


Perdition

by TheSonsofDurin



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Character AU, Davy Jones's Locker, Depression, Feelings, Mythology - Freeform, Storytelling, Time Travel, au after Dead Man's Chest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:43:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSonsofDurin/pseuds/TheSonsofDurin
Summary: Jack was sent to Davy Jones's Locker and now has to find his way back to the land of the living- hopefully with the help of a certain ex-navyman.





	1. Badland Melody

Jack has been wandering across the desert for what seems like years. He’d woken up on his back in the barren wasteland of Davy Jones’s Locker with the sun bearing down on him. The Black Pearl had been nowhere to be found. And so he’d walked. Walked and walked and walked, with seemingly no change in his position in the dessert.

He stops, falling to his knees. The sun hasn’t moved. He doesn’t think it ever will. Though he generally likes the heat, being in the Caribbean and all, the heat of the locker is far worse. And with no water in sight, he has no way to quench his thirst.

Jack looks up at the sky. It’s blue-gray, with only a few small clouds in the distance. The clouds haven’t moved either. He almost wishes he’d been turned into a fish-person… no. He’d have been just as trapped as one of Jones’s crew as he is now. Though he’d have been surrounded by water at all times.

He stands again. He doesn’t want to stop moving for long, even though it doesn’t seem like he’s gone anywhere. He has to get out of here. He  _ will _ . Somehow. He’s Captain Jack Sparrow! He’ll find a way, just like always.

Jack walks through the ache in his legs and thirst in his mouth. He’s dead already, or something similar to it; he doubts he can die here. What would be the difference between dying here or dying directly by Jones’s sword, if he could die here?

Still the sun shines. He wishes it could be night. Even if it were still as hot. The night would be nice; there wouldn’t be as much of a glare on the near-white ground. Jack closes his eyes as he walks. He won’t trip over anything. There isn’t anything to trip over, except himself.

Humming. There’s  _ humming _ . Why is there humming? He opens his eyes. Desert. Nothing is around, why is there humming? There’s nothing to be humming… is he the one that’s humming? No.

He doesn’t recognise the song. Then again, he only knows a few. Most of them are drinking songs. The rest are pirate songs. He’s never bothered to remember any others. Jack twirls around, trying to figure out the direction it comes from. It probably wasn’t the best idea, because now he has no idea which direction he came from. Jack frowns, then chooses what he thinks is the right direction and follows the music.

The humming doesn’t get stronger the more he walks, but it doesn’t become quieter, either. It’s both unnerving and reassuring at the same time. Eventually the humming turns into singing, though it still stays at the same volume. If he walks quietly he can make out the words…

 

“And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt.

 

I wear this crown of thorns

Upon my liar's chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair.”

 

Quite suddenly Jack is no longer in a dessert but an enormous forest. The trees form a canopy far above his head, but despite that, there’s enough light for him to see. And what he sees- the trees are larger than any he’s ever seen. Each one could easily supply enough lumber to build a ship, and not a small one. Fallen leaves litter the ground. The ones still mostly together are easily larger than himself. He walks on one that has three points, and it crackles with each step. The air is cooler, too. Cooler than the air in the desert, cooler than the air in the Caribbean. 

The singing picks up again. Now it’s easy to follow, and Jack does, winding around trees and climbing over surfacing roots. The song gets louder and louder, and suddenly Jack feels like he recognises the voice. The accent, no, but the voice- he’s heard it before, he’s sure.

 

“Beneath the stains of time

The feelings disappear

You are someone else

I am still right here

 

What have I become

My sweetest friend?

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

 

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

 

If I could start again

A million miles away

I will keep myself

I would find a way”

 

As it ends, Jack finds himself standing at the bottom of a root. Tan mushrooms larger than himself climb the trunk of the tree, starting at the forest floor. He clambers onto one with effort. He climbs to the next. When the mushrooms move away from the root, he instead takes hold of the blanket of moss that covers the bark and tries that. Sure enough, it holds his weight.

Climbing to the top of the root, he grins. He’s found the source of the singing, and yes, he  _ does  _ recognise the man. Jack had no idea he could sing. He shuffles over, trying to make noise so he doesn’t startle the other whose eyes are closed.

“Hello.” Jack greets as eyes open.

The man stares at him. “Hello.”

That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. “No acerbic comments, Commodore?”

The Commodore- former Commodore, that is- just blinks. “No.”

Suddenly Jack wonders if Norrington is really here or if it’s just another way of torment the Locker is throwing at him. He swallows a lump in his throat. “How’d you get here?”

“Death.”

Jack frowns. “Can you say anything that’s more than one word?” If a bit of impatience is obvious in his voice, he’s not surprised. The first contact he’s had with another person and he’s getting barely a conversation.

“I can.”

Jack wants to slap him. “What is wrong with you, Norrington?”

“What do you mean?” For the first time Norrington actually has emotion in his voice.

“What do I mean? You aren’t angry at me. You aren’t sarcastic. You aren’t  _ anything _ . You aren’t even bothered by the fact that you’re dead!” Jack glares. “You aren’t even talking right- what’s with the accent?”

Norrington shrugs. “You seem to be more affected than I am. Seems you’re the one acting weird, not me. Since when do you care about how I feel?”

Jack blinks. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in I don’t know how long, alright?” He sits beside Norrington. “At least you have a forest. I was stuck in a desert.”

“I would have preferred a desert.”

“Even one that never has night?” Jack asks.

“Yes.” Norrington stares straight ahead.

Jack cocks his head. “Why?”

“This forest reminds me of home. It’s far too large, but the trees… they’re the same kinds that I grew up around. Beech, ash, oak. This one’s hemlock. The one to our right is a maple. Have you seen any willows? I saw a few before I climbed up here.” Norrington blinks slowly, and doesn’t speak again.

“Didn’t know you were a tree expert, Norrington.” Jack is actually impressed. He knows some trees, of course, but they’re all ones from around the Caribbean.

“I’m not, and don’t call me that. Please.”

“What do you want me to call you, then?” Jack shifts. “Commodore? English?”

“James.”

“Oh.” He says “Call me Jack, then.”

They sit in silence for some time.

“You grew up in the countryside, then?” Jack asks.

“Yes.”

“In England?”

“America.”

Jack pauses. “The Colonies? Up north?”

“New York, yes.” James sighs. “I miss it.”

Jack looks around. “What kind of animals do you have in New York?” He hasn’t seen any yet, but with how large the plant life is, the animals must be just as large.

“About the same as in England. Brown bears. Deer. Raccoons, foxes, and rabbits. There are wolves… and coyotes. Plenty of birds.” James looks around. “I’m sure all of those animals are here, too. I’ve seen plenty of bugs. There’s a squirrel that lives in the maple tree. I climbed halfway up a sycamore because a rat tried stalking me. It’s actually terrifying.”

Jack nods. “Squirrel must be taller than the root we’re on.”

“It is. I really hate this place.”

“I’d have thought that something familiar would be comforting. This bothers you, though.” Jack says.

“Yes, it does.” James puts his hand to his face. “This reminds me of the place I can never return to. I wish things were normal again.”

They sit in silence once more. Jack closes his eyes and leans against the trunk of the tree. A slight breeze tickles his face. He revels in it. The desert had no wind. He’s so tired… and thirsty. He hasn’t had anything to drink in so long… nothing to eat… he hasn’t slept… Jack falls asleep to a familiar voice singing an unfamiliar song.

 

“I am a lost boy from Neverland

Usually hanging out with Peter Pan

And when we're bored we play in the woods

Always on the run from Captain Hook

‘Run, run, lost boy,’ they say to me

Away from all of reality…”


	2. Wildwood

“Jack… Jack, wake up.” James’s voice cuts through his dreams.

Jack opens his eyes sluggishly. James crouches in front of him, holding something large and very bumpy in his hands. It must be the size of their heads. Bigger. He can’t decide whether it’s black or dark blue.

“Whasat?” He murmurs.

“A black cap.” James holds it out. “You should eat something.”

Jack sits up. “And how am I supposed to eat that?”

James shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Just… rip a piece off? Then eat it. Don’t try to bite the whole berry at once. It’ll feel like it explodes in your face. At least if you rip a piece off in your hands then the juice won’t get right in your eyes. And nose.”

Jack blinks. “Er…”

James sighs and does it for him. He hands Jack the torn, roundish piece. His hand is covered in purple-red juice. Jack takes it and nibbles slowly at the torn part. He’s never had a black cap before. It’s sort of sour, sort of sweet. “This what you’ve been eating since you got here?”

“Mostly.” James eats his own piece. The rest of the black cap sits on the root.

“You aren’t covered in juice.” Jack notes.

James shrugs. “There’s a crick around here. A few trees away.”

“Hm.” Jack finishes. “You know, James. We should get going.”

James frowns. “Get going?”

“Yeah. Get going. Leave. Find our way out of the Locker.” Jack scoots closer. “Together, you know, we’ll be safer. Less likely to go mad.”

“You’re already mad, Jack.” James says.

“Yes, but more mad, I mean. Really mad. That’s why we should work together to get back to the land of the living.” Jack grins.

James shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“Why not?” His grin slips off his face. “You don’t want to leave? Thought you hated this forest.”

“I do. But I have nothing left for me. I have no job, I have no friends, I have nobody to go home to. I don’t even  _ have  _ a home. Not anymore.” James takes another piece of the black cap. “So I have no interest in leaving.”

Jack feels a momentary pang of guilt. He… probably had something to do with that, if he’s honest with himself. Not intentionally, though. “You can make something, though. Make friends. Make a home. The navy ain’t the only occupation, mate.”

James looks at him. Frowns. “I think the Locker’s already scrambled your brains.”

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve said mate.”

“So?”

“It’s the first time you’ve sounded like yourself. The Jack Sparrow that I’ve known, at least. You’ve been speaking differently and I’ve only just noticed it.” James says.

Jack pauses. He  _ has  _ been speaking different, hasn’t he? “Hm. Guess so. Must’ve forgotten…” He trails off, thinking. “Welp. There are other things to worry about, like getting out of here.”

“I’m not leaving, I already told you. I don’t have anything.” James says.

Jack sighs. “An’ like I was saying, mate, just because you don’t have what you had, doesn’t mean you can’t make something else for yerself. Savvy?”

James doesn’t answer. He just looks down at his lap. Jack watches James’s chest rise and fall steadily as the minutes pass. Jack realizes for the first time that they both wear the same outfit- Jack hadn’t awoke in the Locker wearing his usual attire, and he’s sure that James had been wearing some sort of naval outfit- if not his old coat he’d been wearing last Jack had saw him, then a new outfit from wherever the man had run off to after taking the chest. Both of them are wearing grey shirts and trousers, with the same boots.

“James.” Jack says softly. “I lost everything once. Close to it, at least. I got it all back.”

“Did you?” James asks. He sounds angry. “Did you? You’re here, in Davy Jones’s Locker, with nothing but the clothes on your back. You’ve lost your ship. You’ve lost your life. Have you lost your friends yet? Your crew? None of them are here. Which one betrayed you? Which one left you to die?” James leans forward. His green eyes are like cold emeralds. “They all left you to die, and if they were already dead themselves then you have nobody to return to. If they aren’t dead yet then they will be soon. Beckett is on his way to Shipwreck Cove and he intends to eradicate piracy completely. You will find your way back to the land of the living and you will be  _ alone _ .”

“You don’t know that.” Jack says. “There will always be pirates, mate. Piracy’s an idea. Like freedom. You can’t kill an idea.”

“You can suppress it.” James says. “Keep people from ever learning it.”

Jack shakes his head. “Don’t be so dreary, James. Beckett isn’t the only man who’s tried to destroy piracy. He’ll fail.”

James doesn’t look convinced. At least he doesn’t look as angry.

Jack continues. “Especially with Will and Elizabeth, you know. They’re true pirates. I could tell right when I met ‘em. They’ve got spirit. They’ll figure something out.”

“Elizabeth is a pirate lord.” James says.

Jack blinks. “Er- what?”

“She’s a pirate lord. She took over the Empress.” James tilts his head. “The Dutchman went after them. We caught them, and I set them free during the night. I died for it.”

Jack thinks about that. “You were on the Dutchman?” He asks quietly.

“Beckett put me there.”

“How did Beckett get control of the Dutchman?” Jack knows, because there’s only one way for that to have happened, but he still wants to hear it.

James seems to understand what he wants. “He has Jones’s heart, and so he has control over Jones.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “And how did he get the heart, James?”

James looks him in the eyes. “I gave it to him.”

Jack swallows down rage. “So you took it from th’ jar. If ye hadn’t- if ye hadn’t- I wouldn’t be here!” He snaps. “That heart was th’ only thing that was keepin’ Jones from sendin’ his beastie after me.”

James just looks at him. “I’m perfectly aware of that. And I didn’t care. Just like you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Jack has nothing to say to that. It’s true… and not true, at the same time. He scowls. If James notes the victory, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he turns to look into the forest. Jack follows his gaze, for lack of anything better to do.

“We should go to the crick,” James says, and begins to slide down the side of their root.

Jack follows, with less grace. As they walk, James points out various plants: as if Jack cares. Then again, at least James is speaking to him.

“This is onion grass,” James says as they pass through a patch of odd-smelling greens. “That tree’s a red maple. Careful of the pricker bush, the thorns are about the size of us. Have you ever seen a walnut tree?”

James looks at him intently. “Er, no,” Jack says flatly.

James continues. “There’s a patch of moss up here, try not to destroy the sporophyte.”

“I’ve no idea what that means, mate.”

“Don’t destroy the taller vines that poke out from the regular plant. It won’t be able to reproduce.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Concerned with plant sex?”

James sighs. “I’d like to not destroy the plant’s only goal in existence. At least I have something to care about- even if it is just biology of plants.”

“You know, you said you weren’t an expert. You seem to be, though.” Jack gives James a look.

“I’m not an expert. I just remember some of the things I learned in school.” James sounds contemptuous. “At least you believe me. Every time I’ve talked about biology to Gillette and Groves they’ve laughed at me. I know what I’ve talked about, even if it sounds ridiculous.”

Jack thinks. “And what is the most ridiculous thing you know?”

James stops. In front of them rushes an enormous expanse of water. Jack stops beside him.

“Well?” Jack presses.

“Humans, dolphins, and whales have a common ancestor.” James says flatly. “As do every animals, but dolphins and whales left the sea and then returned to it, whereas fish never left and every other animal remained out of the water.”

Jack blinks. He has no clue how James would know this, but he doesn’t doubt the man. “Don’t believe God made everything perfectly, then?”

“I don’t believe in God.” James says, and strips his shirt off.


	3. Memoirs

Chapter 3: Memoirs

 

Jack has figured out how to get James to go with him. Not that James knows that. All Jack has to do is talk about plants. Well, more than plants, really, anything ‘biology’, but as the plant life is the main thing around, he talks about plants.

“Why’re they called Snapdragons?” Jack asks. He reaches up to poke an odd-looking part of the bush. It explodes. Part of it smacks him in the face, hard.

“That’s why.” James says smugly.

Jack decides not to touch it anymore. His face stings. “Why’s it do that?”

“Reproduction. Spreading the seeds around. It’s one way of doing things.” James shrugs. “Did that hurt? I’m surprised it popped, you barely touched it.”

Jack grins. “Must’ve had a lot of action before I touched it.”

James frowns at him. For a moment he thinks he’ll be admonished, but then James starts laughing. He’s never heard James laugh before. Jack grins along with him.

“How’d you learn all this? De ye have a song to sing along to?” Jack asks.

James hums noncommittally. They duck under a mushroom as a group of ants march past.

“No? Odd. Ye seem to like songs. I’ve heard you sing two of ‘em.” Jack says.

“I do like music, but there’s no song to teach you everything about biology.” James shakes his head.

“You should sing something.” Jack jumps in front of James. “A new song. One I haven’t heard before.”

James hesitates.

“Please?” Jack pouts. Really, truly, pouts, sad face and everything.

James sighs. “Only a bit of one.

 

“Almost heaven, West Virginia   
Blue ridge mountains, Shenandoah river   
Life is old there, older than the trees   
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze

 

Country roads, take me home   
To the place I belong   
West Virginia   
Mountain mamma, take me home   
Country roads

  
All my memories, gather round her   
Modest lady, stranger to blue water   
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky   
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye

  
Country roads, take me home   
To the place I belong   
West Virginia   
Mountain mamma, take me home   
Country roads.”

 

Jack stares. This is the first time he’s concentrated on the fact that  _ James _ is the one singing. He’s impressed. And maybe a little intimidated, too. Jack can sing, but not all that well. Not as well as James. And James has passion! Jack has no idea what the song is, who wrote it, why. But James clearly does, and Jack can tell he likes the song.

“Ye should finish it.” Jack says. Pleads, really. He wants to hear the rest.

James shakes his head. “No, that’s enough.”

“Do they remind ye of home, too?” Jack asks. 

James flinches. His lips are pressed thinly together, and Jack wonders how the man was able to pry them apart to sing.

“Y’know, there’s nothing wrong with ‘t. It’s alright to remember things you used to have.” Jack shrugs. “An’ the only way t’ make things feel better is to have it feel worse, first.”

James says nothing. He continues walking.

“Really, mate. Like an infected wound, right? It’ll get worse and worse, grow to different parts o’ the body, and kill ye. Unless ye cut off the limb first so the infection can’t spread.” Jack runs his hand through his hair. He misses his hat and headscarf…

“My memories are not an infection, Jack.” James’s voice is back to bland apathy.

“Bad ones are. And bad  _ feelings _ are. So when your memories bring bad feelings- ye can’t ignore them.” Jack steps over a branch that goes up to his knees.

James sighs.

“Well, the best way to get around bad feelings is to talk about good ones, savvy? So you’d best start talking about some good memories you have, James.” Jack pats the man on the shoulder. “I’ll make ye a deal, even. For every good memory you tell, I’ll tell one.”

James stares at him. “Why do you care?”

Jack blinks. “Not like I have much else to put my mind to.”

“So you’re going to try and fix me, then? Because you have nothing else to do?” James laughs, but it’s a hollow, false sound.

“Well-” Jack starts, then pouts. “Whatever. But my offer still stands.” He crosses his arms as they walk. “Do ye want me to start first?”  
James hums.

“Alrighty then. I’ll start.” Jack thinks. How many good memories does he have that aren’t of him breaking some law or other? Maybe of the time with the mermaids…? He takes in a breath. “Alright. So, when I was little- only five or six, I think- the cook of the ship I was on- it was my dads ship, of course- well, the cook had just been given some new supplies from a spice ship we’d raided.”

“We?” James asks. 

“The adults, then. But I  _ was  _ part of the crew, technically!” Jack shakes his head. “Anyway, the cook had just been given some new spices, all sorts of them from the Indies, and I decided to go help the cook, yeah? Not much else for a kid to do, not when all the adults were getting drunk with expensive wine that’d been on the spice ship. So I was helpin’ him sort it out, find space for it, all that. We had to open a box of cinnamon, and it was all ground already, and I thought ‘I like cinnamon! Maybe I’ll have some right now!’ and well. Have ye ever just had a spoonful- or in my case, a handful- of cinnamon?” He looks at James.

James grimaces. “Unfortunately, yes. And I was perfectly aware of how that would turn out, too. You didn’t?”

“Not a clue.” Jack affirms. “So I shoved a whole handful into my mouth. Not only did it not taste good, I  _ immediately  _ couldn’t breath. Choking on cinnamon? Worse than water. I was coughing it up for days. Dad was worried sick, cook just found it funny, at least after he’d made sure I was alright. Wasn’t funny for me at the time, but looking back at it now? Very funny. I’m lucky I survived, though.”

He’s awarded with a laugh from James. “In the colonies, it’s popular to do that. It was, anyway, when i was younger. Take a spoonful of cinnamon and swallow it. It was called the Cinnamon Challenge. Everyone knew it was a bad idea, but people still did it.”

Jack laughs as well. “Yeah, I had no clue. Absolutely no idea what I was in for. Now, your turn.”

James takes in a breath. “Alright. When I was twelve or so, my father, sister, cousin, and I went on a hike behind one of the school buildings. There was a trail through the woods, with a river running through it. Well, we were walking down the trail and my sister decided to go down the bank, closer to the river. There was a small patch of muddy ground, because the water level had been so low that year, so she jumped onto that… and sunk into the mud to her ankles. We didn’t realize it was  _ that  _ muddy. So she pulled herself out onto the rest of the patch, which held fine,  and my cousin jumped down. Except she’d decided that to escape sinking into the mud she had to move quickly. So she hit the ground and jumped forward. She left her shoes in the mud and had to pull them out.

“So then it was my turn, and I decided to just jump past the mud patch rather than try to go through it. So I jumped, hit the ground… and slid. My legs went into the water and mud covered my back end, which really, was a worse fate than getting my feet stuck.” James stops as Jack starts laughing.

“May I continue?” James asks, though he doesn’t sound angry. Amused, more like, which makes Jack laugh harder.

He’s imagining it now, three twelve year olds with mud on varying parts of their bodies. It shouldn’t be as funny as it is; it’s not like he isn’t used to mud being everywhere. Still, it makes him laugh. “Continue.” Jack gasps.

“So then we waited for what my father would do. He didn’t want to get his feet muddy, or anything else, really. But we were eager to see what he would do to escape the mud, because he was certainly going to follow us down onto the patch. So he thought for a moment, then picked up sticks from the ground, and broke them. Then he dropped them onto the patch of mud, one right after the other, until there was a sort of ‘floor’ covering it. Then he stepped down. To our disappointment, the sticks worked just as he’d hoped and he was the only one in our group that didn’t get muddy feet that day.” James grins. “My sister spent the entire walk trying to trick him into stepping onto patches of mud. It didn’t work.”

“What was your sister’s name?” Jack asks, curious. He didn’t know James had siblings. Though, he doesn’t know most things about the man.

“Lauren. We’re twins.” James sighs. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Does she still live in New York?” Jack asks.

“No.” James says.

“Well.” Jack fumbles for a moment. They pause, staring out from under a plant James had earlier identified as knotweed, and he tries to come up with something more to say. “Well, I’ve another story, James, and you’d better listen, savvy?”

“Sure.” James says.


	4. There and Back Again

Weeks. Weeks of walking in this too-large forest, weeks of trying to goad James into spilling details about his life, weeks of eating wrongly sized food. Jack is sick of it. He’s sick of climbing over or around enormous protruding roots. He’s sick of walking over the leaf litter. He’s sick of giant raindrops, giant animals, giant obstacles. He’s sick of talking, for once, and sick of the Locker. He’s glad that James has resigned himself to traveling with him, though. He’s not sure how he’d do alone.

Speaking of James- they’re resting beneath a briar bush for the night, lying on leaves that they’d managed to pull off from a nearby flower. James lays flat on his stomach, head buried in his arms. Jack is fairly certain he’s asleep. He’s learned a lot about the man, but in the end all of the information just creates a larger enigma. He really has no idea who James Norrington really is. Some things are easy; James is prideful, and ambitious, and he’s the kind of person that would do anything for those he cares about. But why James is like this, why James joined the Navy, why he hates pirates so much, why he seems so sure he can’t ever return to New York- he knows nothing. He doesn’t know why James likes songs so much. Why he’s sad sometimes, and happy the next moment, then completely apathetic (though surely, this is because of the events leading up to being in the Locker? Then again, Jack doesn’t think he’s like this, and he’d been through plenty himself…)

Jack sighs. He runs a finger through his hair. It refuses to turn into dreadlocks. Absolutely refuses, as if because he’s in the locker he can’t be a feared pirate with a Look; he has to be a plain man with long, uncooperative hair. He’d tied it up with a piece of flower stem weeks ago, to at least keep it behind his head.

Beside him, James stirs. He turns, looking at Jack with squinted eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine.” Jack says. He runs his fingers through his hair. No baubles, either. All the coins and keepsakes he’s had in his hair for years are gone.

“Do you want me to help you do something with your hair?” James asks.

Jack gives him a look. “Do what? Tie it into _two_ ponytails instead of one? I could do that myself.”

James sits up. “I meant braid it, or something. My cousin has curly hair like yours, and she always kept it up when we were children. She felt her hair was unmanageable, and usually asked other people to help her out. I know how to do a lot of hairstyles.”

Jack frowns. “Alright, fine. Let’s see what ye can do.” He turns so that James can reach his head better. “Better not make it look terrible.”

James laughs softly. “I don’t intend to.”

Fingers delicately run through his hair. They touch his scalp, tug gently on strands, undoing the few knots that have made their way into his hair. The flower stem is untied. Jack closes his eyes. He has nothing to do but sit in his thoughts, really. He doesn’t feel much like talking.

“Tell me about your favorite story.” Jack murmurs.

“My favorite story?” James asks. “That’s very open. I have a lot of favorite stories.”

“So tell me about one. One that I don’t know.” Jack says.

James is silent. “I have one memorized, actually. I could recite it, if you wanted.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Hobbit.” James gently weaves his hair together.

Jack shrugs. “Who wrote it?”

“A man named Tolkien.” James says. “It was written after he’d fought in a war, a terrible war. The story reflects that.”

Jack considers this. “Seems dark… why do ye like it?”

“Because it’s a classic. Because the characters are lovable, because there is as much to learn from the story as there is to enjoy the adventure.”

“Go ahead, then.” Jack says.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor was it a dry, bare, sandy hole, with nothing in it to sit down on or eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.” James starts. His voice has taken on a storyteller’s sound. The words are low- spoken, but not unemotional; Jack has always thought himself a good storyteller, but he’s never told a story in this way before.

Jack lets himself drift off, in a way, as James tells the story. He imagines it all in his head with closed eyes. And James does the _voices_. Each character has their own tone, own way of speaking, one that James has no problem vocalizing. Though one man is voicing all the characters, Jack can feel the personality. He can almost imagine them all there, with him and James.

“Fifteen birds in five fir-trees,

their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!

But, funny little birds, they had no wings!

O what shall we do with the funny little things?

Roast ‘em alive, or them in a pot;

fry them, boil them, and eat them hot?” James chant-sings. His voice has a growly tone to it now, and Jack chas no troubles imagining the goblins singing together the terrible song.

James has long stopped braiding his hair. Now they sit, still in the same positions- at least Jack thinks so, because he hasn’t moved and James’s voice doesn’t seem any fainter- and James’s voice is the only sound Jack hears. No calling of night- animals, no wind or rain. Just James’s voice, and it continues on, with Jack pulled along with the story into the night.

“‘Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at their merrymaking?” asked the king.

‘We did not attack them,’ answered Thorin; “we came to beg, because we were starving.’

‘Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?’

‘I don’t know, but I expect starving in the forest.’

‘What were you doing in the forest?’

‘Looking for food and drink, because we were starving.’

‘But what brought you into the forest at all?’ asked the king angrily.

At that Thorin shut his mouth and would not say another word.” James recites.

Jack chuckles. He’s been in arguments like that before, on both sides of it. Really, he thinks Thorin’s done nothing wrong; the king should just let them go. He says nothing; he doesn’t want to interrupt the story.

And on the story goes. The escape, and Lake-town. The mountain and the dragon that rested inside it. The treasure inside of the mountain. Jack would like to have that much treasure one day, he thinks. If only to wave it in front of Barbossa (or the monkey, anyway) out of spite.

And onto the Battle of Five Armies. He wonders in the confrontation against Jones could be something like that; Jones and pirates and Tia Calypso, and the East India Trading Company lead by Beckett as well.

When James reaches the end, and the last words are spoken (‘Thank goodness!’ said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco-jar.) Jack is tired enough to sleep the rest of the night and most of the next day. He brushes his hand over the top of his head, feeling bumps from the delicate plait that James had constructed, and then slumps back, pushing James onto his back as well, and refuses to move.

James shifts for a moment, undoubtedly trying to get out from under him, but he finally shifts into what must be a more comfortable position and doesn’t move either. The gentle rise and fall of James’s chest helps lull him to sleep, and he dreams of fighting a dragon. A dragon that comes from the sea, with tentacles instead of wings… but the outcome is the same, he decides in the morning. He wins the fight, slays the beast.

Perhaps James was right. There _is_ much to learn from the story.


	5. Tricksters

Jack looks out at the expanse of ice in front of them. A white sheet that goes on further than he can see. And they have to  _ cross  _ it. He wraps his arms tighter around his body. “I hate th’ cold.” He mutters.

James sighs. “Yes, you’ve said that. At the moment I’m not enjoying it much myself.” James looks as cold as Jack feels- his face is red, he’s shivering, and the tips of his hair are frosted over, courtesy of a mouse that had shaken the snow off of a leave as James had been under it.

“And now we have to cross this ocean of ice.” Jack says.

“It’s probably only a lake.” James says.

Jack snorts. “Maybe. But we’re the size of ants, mate. It’s an ocean to us. Ye even sure it’s frozen all the way across? Or enough to hold us?”

“As you said, we’re the size of ants. The ice should hold fine. As for how far across.. It’s likely the whole thing is frozen, with how cold it is.” James takes a step forward. “Come on, we have to cross this.”

Jack grumbles and follows him. He hates ice. It’s more slippery than soaked wood. Why did they have to find themselves in the ‘winter’ section of the woods? He was perfectly fine in the ‘summer’ area. At least they were able to wrap leaves and flower petals around themselves as protection against the cold.

Jack makes it four steps before his feet slide out from under him and he tumbles to the ice. His plait hits him in the face as he goes. Miserable, he stares up at James. James looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’ve never been ice skating, have you?” James asks.

“No. Spent most me time in the Caribbean, mate. Ye ever seen ice around there?” Jack struggles to stand, and fails. His plait hits his face again.

“Here.” James leans down and helps him up. He continues to hold him as Jack gets his bearings. “I’ll just help keep you up, then. Shouldn’t be too hard. Do you know how penguins walk on ice.”

Jack’s about to answer no, he doesn’t, why would he, when a certain pronunciation makes his brain stutter to a stop. “Did you say… peng-wings..?”

James blushes. At least, Jack thinks he does. His face is red from the cold anyway. “I may have. I can’t actually say the word right…”

Jack grins. “Say it again. And continue what you were saying, too.”

James laughs shortly. “Yes… well, penguins walk with their center of gravity forward. At the front of their feet. They sort of lean forward. It helps them keep from slipping. You should try it.”

“Right. Walk like a penguin.” Jack purposefully says the word wrong. He’s teasing, but in a nice way. He’s trying to, at least. He can’t keep his balance on ice, James can’t say penguin, they’re even.

Of course, it doesn’t help. At all. He falls every few steps, and James has to help him up again. James seems to have no problems, too. He glides over the ice, barely lifting his feet. 

“How come yer boots like the ice?” He whines as James helps him up again. At this rate, it’ll take weeks to cross the ice and he’ll be covered in bruises by the end.

“I used to skate all the time. Of course, regular ice skates have a blade on the bottom of the feet, rather than staying flat, but I spent a lot of time just using my boots. My uncle had a pond that froze over almost completely during the winter. Besides, the wood porch in front of my house always had the rainwater from the roof onto it. It was entirely too easy to slip on the slick surface. At least most ships don’t have that trouble.” James takes a step forward, this time without letting Jack go. Jack slides forward with him and doesn’t fall.

“Maybe ye’ll just have te carry me then,” Jack mutters, “because I can’t do anything on this ice.”

James laughs. “Just hold onto me, alright?”

Slowly but surely, they make their way across. Jack occasionally loses his balance, but James rights them before they can fall. The only sound is of their boots scratching against the surface of the ice. If Jack looks hard enough, he swears he can see through the ice and into the water beneath. Not that there’s anything to see.

As they go, James hums. He makes no indication he wants to sing, and so Jack says nothing. It doesn’t seem to be one song; instead, James seems to go from song to song as he pleases. Jack wonders what the songs are about. A bird circles overhead. He hopes it doesn’t try to catch them. He says as much to James.

“We’ll probably be fine. I doubt the bird will eat anything bright looking. It usually means something poisonous.” James says.

Jack looks down at their clothes. The grey from their actual clothes is nearly impossible to see, surrounded by greens and pinks of the plants wrapped around them. “But if it’s really hungry?”

“You’d best be ready to run, then.” James says.

Jack frowns and says no more. He really misses his Pearl. And the Caribbean Sea. If only he had his compass; they’d know if they were going the right way or not. For all he knows, they’re just walking in a big circle. He thinks of his crew.

Pintel and Ragetti, the idiots. They’d only joined his crew again because he’d been to busy to tell them to get out. Anamaria had left after they’d taken a Spanish ship off the coast of Nassau; she’d gotten her ship. Mr. Cotton and his parrot had been an odd duo, but he finds he misses them nonetheless. The mute has a friendly air around him, different from so many pirates. And Marty, with his acerbic humor. He misses Gibbs, too. He can always count on Gibbs in the end.

And Elizabeth and Will. Thinking about Elizabeth makes him feel… confused. He was right, in the end, about he and Elizabeth being peas in a pod. She’s more of a pirate than Will, really. But she  _ had  _ left him to die by the kraken. In fact, she’d cuffed him to the Pearl to ensure it. A smart move, really. They’d have all died if Jack had stayed with them. He gets it. Doesn’t mean he  _ likes  _ it. Thinking about will makes him feel guilty. He’d known Bootstrap is part of Jones’s crew when he’d sent Will as a bargaining chip. So for Will to return and want Jones’s heart for himself, as annoying as it was, was completely reasonable. He’s really put Will through hell, hasn’t he? He wonders. He’d really made a mess of things.

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice his feet as they begin to slide. And then suddenly he’s toppling over, bringing James with him, and they land painfully on the ice. His plait slaps him in the face. Again.

“I’m about to take this plait out if it smacks me in the face again.” He growls. “I don’t care if it’s called a ‘fishtail braid’ or not.”

James laughs, sounding pained. “Do whatever you feel like, Jack.”

They sit on the cold surface for a few minutes. No matter what direction he looks, other than up, the only thing he can see is ice. Usually, with the sea, it doesn’t bother him. He feels free when he can’t see even a hint of land. But with ice it’s different. He feels tiny, and insignificant, and lost. The cold air burns his lungs.

“Can’t believe ye enjoy the cold.” Jack mutters.

“Only sometimes.” James answers. “I’m not thrilled to be in it right now.”

“Tell me a story.” Jack burts. “Something with ice and snow. But a happy story. So this doesn’t seem as bad.” He makes eye contact with James. “Ye must have one.”

Green eyes blink slowly. “Sure I have some. My favorite ones are of Christmas.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in God?”

“I don’t. But my family does, as a whole at least. And honestly, in my family Christmas is less about celebrating the birth of Christ and more about spending time with family. There are nativity scenes, obviously, and plenty of my family members went to church on Christmas. But I didn’t need to believe in God to be able to celebrate with them.”

“Oh.” Jack says. “Well, have ye get a story, then?”

James laughs. “For sure. One year, on Christmas, it snowed so bad that we were snowed in. We could barely open our door enough for us children to slip out, let alone the adults in the house. The roads were covered in snow. All of the adults were upset, you know. We had plans and now we couldn’t do them. But my sister and I? And our cousins, who we lived with? It was the greatest thing in the world. We loved it. We could spend all day at home with our families. We didn’t have to run around and see family we barely saw. We could just drink hot chocolate all day if we wanted. Eat Christmas cookies.

“There really was something magical about it. To the children, at least. But children tend to see the best in everything. I remember looking out the window as more snow fell. Huge flakes, too. It looked so pretty, even in the middle of town, with hardly any trees in sight.” James sighs.

“Think if that happened now ye’d feel the same?” Jack asks.

“I have no clue.” James says.

Slowly, they stand. Looking out over the ice, Jack still feels small. But he doesn’t feel as insignificant anymore.

“Onward!” Jack says.

James laughs and pulls him along. “You know, Jack. I have another story I’d like to tell you.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Jack says.

“It’s the story of Mahtigwess and Lusifee. It stems from Algonquin myth, I think. Mahtigwess is a rabbit, and Lusifee a wildcat. At one time, Mahtigwess ran free, unbound by the ways of mortals. They were affronted by the spirit’s untethered nature, and turning to Great Lusifee, they pleaded that Mahtigwess be controlled. Upon his long tail he swore, ‘I will catch Mahtigwess.’ Lusifee was on the hunt. After a long trek, he came across Mahtigwess’s footprints leading to a wigwam.

“Inside, he greeted an old man. ‘Old man have you seen the great Mahtigwess?’ ‘Certainly, but it’s dark and dangerous, and you seem hungry. Here, I shall give you food and rest, and you may hunt for the dangerous Mahtigwess in the morning.’ And so, he ate and he slept. But then he woke the next morning in the freezing cold, feeling as if he had never eaten the night before. Had he fallen asleep? Angrily, he realized that Mahtigwess was far ahead of him now! But the tracks continued, and so must he.

“He next came across a meeting of people who were listening to their leader celebrating the gift of freedom granted by Mystery. ‘Servants of Mystery, have you seen the great Mahtigwess?’ ‘Come young man, you look cold and hungry. Surely your quest can wait until after our prayer supper!’ Lusifee wondered. But it certainly couldn’t be a dream this time. And so he stayed and ate, and celebrated with the servants of Mystery. He soon woke to pains of hunger, as though he had not eaten for days. Mahtigwess must be miles ahead of him by now… if there really ever was a Mahtigwess.

“But there were tracks. So he followed them all the way to the sea. On the shore he found a ship with its crew. ‘Captain, have you seen the great Mahtigwess?’ ‘No, but you look tired and hungry. It will not take much to capture you and sell you to a village!’ And so, they set upon Lusifee. Was this a dream, or was it real? Was it the crew that took his tail, or was it the oath he broke? Or did he ever have a tail to begin with?” James finishes.

They’ve gotten close enough to the other side for Jack to see trees. He wonders about the story for a moment.

“An interesting story.” Jack says finally.

“It’s only one version, and a short one. But they’re mostly the same, in the end. Mahtigwess is a trickster spirit, sometimes malevolent and sometimes benevolent. Lusifee is usually portrayed as malevolent and greedy.” James says. “In any case, I like it. It’s interesting, especially because people don’t usually pay attention to Native American stories.”

“Is there a reason ye decided to share?” Jack asks. “Or did it just come to mind because we’re cold and hungry?”

“Well, you certainly strike me as a trickster, Jack. Maybe Beckett is Lusifee, and you’re Mahtigwess. Or, yes, I’m just cold and hungry.” James continues to drag them across the ice.

Jack ponders this. “Hm.” he says finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the 'Mahtigwess and Lucifee' almost directly from a youtube series called No Evil by Betsy Lee, I did not adapt it to be my own, if anyone is wondering.


	6. Small Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a really small chapter. It's really not more than a plot-less drabble, but I felt like I needed to do this. They've been in each others' company for a while, so undoubtedly they've had conversations like this before...

Jack has a song stuck in his head. He doesn’t know why, because he can’t say he likes the song, and yet it’s stuck in his head like some sort of parasite. It’s James’s fault, too! He’d sung it hours ago, under his breath. It’s  _ annoying _ . So he grumpily hums the song, hoping it will go away.

Stupid song.

“Maybe you should try singing it?” James suggests.

“Maybe ye should try singin’ a different song?” Jack says back. He hops over the end of a fallen icicle.

“Don’t feel like it,” James says. “The song is stuck in my head, too, you know. That’s why I was  _ singing it.” _

“Well, ye’ve spread it ta me, so ye need ta fix it, savvy?”

“What’s so wrong with the song? You usually like them.”

“I just don’t like it.” Jack says petulantly. 

“Jesus, Jack.”


	7. Star Wars

Jack shivers. The two of them are taking shelter in a hollow log. A snowstorm rages outside. Wind howls, sounding like a thousand wolves shrieking for blood. They’ve brought some snow into the log and built a sort of wall around themselves as further shelter. It’s still freezing, though. He shifts closer to James. God, the man’s like a fire. Heat is emanating off of him. It does little against the cold, though, and James shivers alongside him.

“L-let’s talk about warm things.” Jack chatters.

“I can’t remember what warm is, to be honest.” James says. His lips are blue.

Jack curls up tighter. “Soup. Soup is warm.”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Fire.”

“Sun.”

Jack looks up. It’s dark in the log. Almost too dark to see anything. He can, however, still make out the shape of a mouse huddling a little ways away.

“Do ye think that mouse would be warm?” He asks.

“To eat or to cuddle with?” James says.

“Either.”

“Probably.” James shivers. “Maybe we can kill it and hide in the body…”

Jack looks at him. “We can what now?” He’s never heard of doing _that_ to stay warm. He’s not sure he wants to try that out, either.

“I saw it in a play.” James mutters. “It isn’t important.”

Jack tilts his head. “Seems important. What play?”

James mumbles an answer.

“What was that?”

“...Star Wars?” It sounds like more of a question than an answer. 

“Never heard of it.” Jack muses.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.”

“What’s it about?”

James takes in a breath. “It’s about a war. In space.”

“Yes, I got that from the name.”

James huffs. “I really don’t know how to explain it to you, okay? There’s a war in space, and the main character is named Luke. Usually. Sometimes there’s a different main character. He’s fighting a man named Darth Vader. Vader is the leader of the evil faction.”

“You’ve described essentially every plot ever.”

“Shut up. Do you want to hear about why I brought up hiding in the mouse or not?”

Jack considers it. “Alright, yes.”

“Right. So, two of the characters, Luke and Han, were on an ice planet called Hoth. Something happened, Luke was hurt, Han needed to get help. He couldn’t drag Luke to civilization, so he opened the belly of his- well, his steed, a creature called a Tauntaun. He put Luke into it so he wouldn’t freeze. The Tauntaun was dead, anyway.” James finishes.

Jack is silent for a while. “Sounds strange.”

“Isn’t everything we deal with? We’re dead, in the afterlife, talking about Star Wars while hiding in a log to get away from a snowstorm. And that doesn’t even mention _how_ we both died.” James sighs. “I’m so cold.”  
“Me, too.” Jack says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've never actually seen star wars, except for clips and part of The Force Awakens, so if I got any of this wrong, well. Maybe James hasn't actually seen them either. And, early update since the last one was so short.


	8. Inferno

Jack dreams of fire. Burning, destroying, killing. It rages through whole towns, desolating everything in its path. Nothing can stop it; the ocean is just as powerless as everything else. The things that the fire doesn’t directly kill, the smoke does. He watches as ships crumble. Sailors jump overboard only to be caught by tendrils of the calamity. They turn to ash even before they hit the water.

Jack dreams of fire. Taking, growing, spreading. It cleanses the entire world, creating something new it its wake. Nothing can stop it; the ocean is just as obscene as everything else. The things that the fire doesn’t purify by itself, the smoke washes anew. He watches ships rebuild. Sailors bathe in the flames of the cataclysm. They get reborn as the ocean rises and falls with the changing tides.

Jack dreams of fire. Except it isn’t, not really. It’s the changing of the tides, changing of alliances, changing of the world. Piracy is in danger of extinction. But Beckett won’t just kill piracy; he will redesign the world in his image.

Jack dreams of fire. And he wakes to cold.

Jack dreams of fire. The real world is so much worse.


	9. War of the Worlds

Jack burrows deeper into the fur of the fox they’re riding. The fox doesn’t know, at least Jack doesn’t think so, and he’s grateful for it. In any case, using the fox to get further through the forest was a great idea- and it was entirely James’s. It’s warm, and fast, and he’s really not spending any energy. He thinks of his dream and shudders.

“Do you think the others are alright?” He asks James.

James doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about. “I hope so.”

“Hope is different than ‘think’.” He says.

“Yes, it is.” James picks at his shirt, then sighs. “I don’t know, Jack. I hope, I want them to be. And I hope to God that Beckett doesn’t win. He deserves nothing good. But I don’t  _ know _ . He has Jones’s heart. He has the backing of the King. And he knows how to blackmail and lie to get exactly what he wants.”

Jack feels a stone settle in his stomach. “The Pirate Lords could set Calypso free.” He says quietly.

“The nymph in Greek mythology?” James asks.

“She’s a goddess. Used to be, at least. Until the Pirate King and Pirate Lords caged her in a human body. Jones was the one that taught them how.” Jack starts. “And the Pirate Lords can set her free again. They have all the Pieces of Eight they need- I told Elizabeth to give mine to Will, made him a Lord. And if Elizabeth is a Lord, then she has a Piece of Eight, too. Will and Elizabeth could convince the other Lords to set Calypso free.”

“If they caged her then why would she help them?” James asks. There’s a small frown on his face.

“It wasn’t the current Pirate Lords, so she’s a little removed from that. And, she’ll be more angry with Jones. They couldn’t have done anything without her.” Jack leans forward excitedly. “If they set Calypso free, she could take Jones out. Then it’s just a normal battle- pirates vs E.I.T.C. And pirates know how to band together in a crisis. It’s happened before.”

“Alright… but do any of the pirates currently know how to set Calypso free? Or just that they _ have the ability to? _ ” James growls in frustration. “Will any of the other Pirate Lords listen to Will and Elizabeth? They’re new. And besides,  _ pirates _ . There’s bound to be some people looking for personal gain.”

Jack sighs. “I’m sure someone knows.” Fur brushes his face, and he sneezes. “And if they don’t, then we’ll just have to get out of here quickly and help them.”

“Right.” James says softly. “Get out of here quickly.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so tired, Jack.”

Jack swallows. “Take a nap?” He suggests.

“Not that kind of tired.”

He can’t really help with that. “Focus on something else? Tell a story. Get your mind off of your own troubles. Maybe you can tell me more about Star Wars? Or about your childhood. Tell me about that. Tell me about another of your favorite stories; you haven’t done that in a while.” He’s rambling.

James is silent. His eyes are closed, face relaxed. “I’ll tell you the story of-” He opens his eyes. “I’ll tell you the Chronicles of Narnia.”

Jack perks up. “Sounds interesting.” He says eagerly.

“It is. It starts with the story ‘The Magician’s Nephew’. I don’t have it entirely memorized, but I know it well enough I could reconstruct it for you. It starts like this:

“This is a story about something that happened long ago when your grandfather was a child. It is a very important story because it shows how all the comings and goings between our own world and the land of Narnia first began. In those days Mr. Sherlock Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road. In those days, if you were a boy you had to wear a stiff Eton collar every day, and schools were usually nastier than now. But meals were nicer; and as for sweets, I won't tell you how cheap and good they were, because it would only make your mouth water in vain. And in those days there lived in London a girl called Polly Plummer.

“She lived in one of a long row of houses which were all joined together. One morning she was out in the back garden when a boy scrambled up from the garden next door and put his face over the wall. Polly was very surprised because up till now there had never been any children in that house, but only Mr Ketterley and Miss Ketterley, a brother and sister, old bachelor and old maid, living together. So she looked up, full of curiosity. The face of the strange boy was very grubby. It could hardly have been grubbier if he had first rubbed his hands in the earth, and then had a good cry, and then dried his face with his hands. As a matter of fact, this was very nearly what he had been doing.” James takes a breath.

Jack cocks his head. “You have that part memorized.”

“Yes, I do. Nothing else, though. The rest will be much less pretentious.” James cracks a smile. “Now be quiet.”

And so Jack listens to the story of two children that cross between worlds. He learns about magic rings and lamp-posts, and witches, and talking animals. The beginning and end of worlds, and of great lions. He finds himself enthralled in the story. His magic compass seems barely anything now, compared to all the magic in the story. And when James stops, snapping out of his storyteller persona, Jack can’t help but wish there was more.

“There is.” James says. “But I can’t tell anything more today. I’m too tired and hungry. My mouth is more dry than a desert.”

“Then is it time to jump ship?” Jack asks.

“I think so.”

“You’ll tell me more of the story tomorrow, though?” Jack runs a hand over his beard.

“Yes. The next one is ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe’ and it’s my favorite of them all. It was the original, too.” James smiles dreamily. “I always wanted to go to Narnia.”

Jack laughs. “Well, this is closest you’ll get, mate.”

Together they jump from the back of the fox and into the snow.


	10. Fallen Angel

Jack startles awake. He doesn’t know what woke him; he has a feeling something isn’t right. He rubs his eyes and sits up. He’s curled up in a makeshift bed in a hole in the base of a tree that he and James had found the day before. Speaking of James- he can’t see him. He stands.

“James?” He calls.

No answer.

Frowning, he crawls out of the hole and into the frigid night air. He can’t even use footsteps to track where James has gone; they make no marks in the snow. He looks around. No James.

“James?” He calls again.  _ Maybe he just went out to go to the bathroom?  _ He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, though. Like an itch under his skin. He starts walking. It’s dark, nearly impossible to see. But usually there isn’t much light at sea, and it doesn’t bother him. He just uses his other senses to get around.

“James, can you hear me?” He gets no answer. Frustrated, he kicks at the snow. “Where’ve you gone?” He growls. Jack trudges back to his hideaway, only to step on a piece of leaf. He yelps as he goes slipping down a small embankment.

He goes much further than he would have liked. He stares up at the sky, visible through the skeletal branches of trees, and wishes the stars were brighter. But, just like the flora and fauna, the stars are distorted. So much more dull than he’s used to, and not quite in the right spaces. This sky is much higher in latitude than the Caribbean.

Jack stands carefully. His ankle hurts. And he’s been completely turned around now; he has absolutely no idea which way to go to get back. Wonderful. Cursing, he spins, trying to find the embankment he slid down. But, of course, he’s in some sort of dip in the ground and  _ everywhere  _ is the embankment. He curses some more. He picks a direction and marches up the hill. Alone in his- admittedly frustrated and angry- thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice the distinctly human sound that reverberates.

...Crying? Someone is crying. He immediately knows who it must be, because there’s only two people around that would be crying. It takes him off guard. He follows the sound. As he follows, the crying is joined by another noise.  **Thud. Thud. Thud.** It isn’t dissimilar to the sound of something hitting wood.

“James?” He says softly. He halts a few inches (made equivalent to feet with their small sizes) away from the man in question.

James slams his hand into the tree, making the same dull thudding sound. Closer, Jack can hear the sound of splitting bark as well. A sob escapes. James doesn’t look at him. Jack doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been in a situation like this. And he isn’t exactly the best with emotions. Especially emotions that aren’t his own. He walks forward and catches James’s wrist. It stops just before it collides.

“Come on, mate. Stop.” He tries to keep his voice quiet, unthreatening.  

James doesn’t resist. His cries have quieted now; Jack can only hear quiet sniffles. He wishes he could see James’s face. He wishes he could see how damaged James’s  _ hand  _ is.

“Let’s get away from here, yeah?” Jack says. He leads them back to the hideaway, finding his bearings quite suddenly and eagerly returning to the relative safe haven.

It’s darker in there than it is outside, which Jack expected. But he pushes James down gently until they’re both sitting on the dirt and almost-decomposed leaf litter they chose as a bed. The evening before. He takes James’s hand in his. James wimpers. But Jack only tears a piece off of his petal cloak and wraps it around the injured hand.

“Is the other one injured as well?” He asks.

“No.” James whispers.

Jack has never heard anything so pitiful. He swallows down the lump in his throat. “Do you want to talk about this, James?”

A shake of a head.

“That’s fine.” Jack says. His chest feels funny. Like it hurts. He wonders if he hurt himself when he slid on the leaf.

After a moment’s hesitation, James suddenly leans forward, into his arms. Jack lets him, and slowly lays them both on the ground. With a sigh, he tugs James closer and pretends not to notice the spreading wetness on his shirt.


	11. Echo

 

Silence. Silence is overwhelming; Jack can feel himself tweaking. But James hasn’t said a word in two days. He just follows Jack wherever he goes. A silent shadow. Jack doesn’t try to make him speak. James will speak when he wants to. He finds himself looking at James’s hand. It’s been rewrapped; he’d cleaned it with snow that morning and redressed it. He doesn’t think James broke his hand, which is good. Jack slows. James is trailing behind him, only by a few feet, but he still feels alone. So he waits for James to catch up and matches that speed.

“Do ye want to hear a story?” Jack asks. James doesn’t even look at him. He tries not to let it bother him. “Right. So, I dunno if ye know the story of Echo and Narcissus, but I’ll tell ye it anyway. Echo was a nymph, an’ she was more talkative ’n anyone else ye’ll ever meet. Once, she talked to th’ Goddess Hera t’ distract her while Zeus an’ her nymph friends escaped. When Hera found out she cursed Echo t’ always repeat th’ last thing said t’ her.” Jack is hardly the storyteller that James is, at least, when it isn’t a story about himself. But he tries, anyway.

“So’s, Echo was cursed n’ all, an’ most her friends abandoned her, ridiculed her. Then she found Narcissus. He was a young hunter, an’ very handsome. All o’ th’ nymphs loved him, an’ Echo the most. But when she tried t’ speak t’ him, she could only repeat his last words, an’ soon he ignored her. She was destroyed by it; an’ went and hid by herself ‘ntil she faded away into nothing.” Jack glances at James. James stares straight ahead, face still blank.

“Narcissus did th’ same to all other nymphs. He shunned them, ignored them, insulted them. An’ one day a maiden asked th’ gods t’ curse him t’ feel unrequited love just as he had done t’ all o’ them. Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, heard an’ answered th’ prayer. When Narcissus looked into a pond an’ found his reflection, he at once fell ‘n love. Yet when he tried t’ touch th’ face o’ his affections, it disappeared into th’ shattered surface o’ th’ water.

“He didn’t know that th’ one he loved was just his own reflection, but even if he had, he would ‘ave still stayed. So he stayed, an’ thought nothing o’ food ‘r drink ‘r sleep. He simply sat an’ adored th’ image ‘n th’ water. Sometimes he talked t’ it; spoke romantic utterances. An’ he withered away much like Echo had done. Th’ nymphs mourned his death, an’ ‘n th’ place he had taken by th’ water was a flower tha’ has become known as th’ Narcissus.” Why Jack decided to tell this story, he’s no idea. It isn’t like it’s a  _ happy  _ story, which is what James seems to need.

Still James doesn’t speak. He does, however, look at Jack finally, and he can see an emptiness is James’s eyes. Jack bites his lip and then smiles, small and friendly-like.

“It’s all right, James. Ye don’t ‘ave t’ feel okay right now. I can do that for th’ both o’ us.” Jack finds himself saying. Hadn’t he warned James, in the beginning, that something like this would happen? He thinks so. He’d never expected to feel so bad about it, though.

James’s face barely changes. Only the slightest twitch of his mouth. But Jack gets his meaning right away.  _ Thank you. _

“I think we should try t’ find a mouse tonight.” Jack says. “Tha’ would be better than roasted bug, right? I could probably start a fire on me own; might take some tries. And mice’ll probably have burrowed into th’ base o’ a tree. All I’ll need t’ do is find some, ‘r one, an’ stab it with a stick. I’ll break one from tha’ bush.” He scampers over to a snow-covered hawthorn bush and reaches up to grab a branch.

He succeeds in snapping the branch, but it rewards him with a pile of snow dropping onto him with the weight of a boulder. He coughs and scrambles out of the burrow of cold as quickly as he can. Now he can’t feel his fingers. Great. He returns to James, stick in hand.

“Let’s find a mouse, yeah? An’ stay away from ponds.” Jack laughs. “‘r handsome young men, if ye look at it tha’ way. Do ye think we’re more like Narcissus or Echo?”

James just looks forward and waits for Jack to start walking. Jack shrugs. He can deal with a silent shadow for now, he decides. James’ll get his voice back eventually.

 


	12. Meanings of Cold

With a mouse pelt draped across his shoulders and on his head, James looks almost monster-like. The snow certainly sets the scene; the greys of James’s clothes are hidden by the faded colors of the flower-petal pallium cloak. The hide covers  _ that _ . Most of it, at least, and it gives him a hood. It’s definitely one of the oddest fashion choices Jack has ever seen, and he knows he doesn’t look much better. He doesn’t have a mouse hood, though.

James looks like a hunter. He looks like a god in disguise. He looks- he looks sad. Jac knows that no amount of clothes are enough to disguise body language. And James walks hunched, arms held close to his chest. It isn’t from the cold, nor from the weight of his outfit. James either looks straight ahead, or straight down, unless Jack manages to cheer him up enough for a brief glance anywhere else. And a blank face with blank eyes finishes the look.

Jack doesn’t know what to do. He  _ never  _ pays this much attention to other people or their problems. He’s never had to. But not being able to help James… it makes him feel funny inside. Like he’s eaten something bad, or he’s had a terrible scare, and he has no clue on how to amend that, either, unless it’s making James be himself again. But how to  _ do  _ that? Eating mouse hadn’t helped. A fire hadn’t helped (and Jack had made it extra big, too). Telling stories of all kinds had done little.

Swallowing, he pinches his arm. The pain is dull- whether from nerves or from the cold, he can’t be sure- and he pinches it harder. He repeats the process a few times; he wants the pain to clear his head a little. Make things easier to figure out. If he can focus on the pain he can get everything else out of his mind. If he can get everything else out of his mind he can focus on helping James. A hand touches his own. He looks at James, who stares back with a dark look in his eyes.

“Don’t.” James whispers. His voice is hoarse from disuse.

“Ye can’t tell me what ta do.” Jack snaps. Immediately he feels bad; James retracts his hand and looks forward once again. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Didn’t mean ta hurt ye.”

James closes his eyes. “You did.”

“I know-” Jack says. “But that’s why I’m apologizing, yeah?”

They stop walking. It seems like they’ve been walking for years, all the seasons going by and such. Walking towards what, too? There’s no reason to think this direction is the right one, yet they keep at it. Suddenly he thinks he understands why James was punching that tree until his hand was bloody.

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself, either.” James continues.

“I know that! S’ just a pinch, anyways.” Jack scowls. “You don’t talk for days and then you finally do- and it’s to patronize me?”

“Patronize?” James sounds shocked. “I’m not patronizing you-”  
“Sounds like it!” Jack twirls around and stalks away.

Footsteps hurry after him. “Where are you going?”

“I need a moment!” Jack hollars back. The footsteps don’t stop, however, and he speeds up.

_ “Jack!” _ James shouts. “Please!”

Jack just runs faster and soon, he’s left James far behind in the darkening winter forest.

* * *

James wanders through the forest aimlessly. He’s lost, and alone, and more than a little distressed. Jack is nowhere to be found. He stares glumly at the sky, seeing the first stars begin to shine. Ice crystals crunch under his feet. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away no matter how many times he swallows or retches; emotions don’t go away that easily. Tears threaten to fall. If only he hadn’t gone into hysterics that night- Jack wouldn’t be worried about him, his hand wouldn’t hurt, and he wouldn’t be lost. Jack wouldn’t be upset. That’s what he’s most bothered; and that knowledge bothers him even more.

There’d been a time where he’d hated the man. He’d tried to kill him more than once. He’d nearly succeeded. And now he can’t even think about the man without feeling conflicted. Bothered, worried, uncertain. Those words really describe his life now. All because of Jack. James growls and kicks a bush.

Why can’t things be easy, he puzzles. Simple. Things have gotten so twisted. Whatever happened to childish naivety? He’d been so cheerful once. Excited for life and adventure. Where did the doubt start? James wipes tears from his face. When did he start crying? No matter; it might as well happen. Nothing else is going right. He can’t do anything right.

He misses Home. He misses his family; his sister, cousins, parents. That’s all he wants now. He wants to go to a place he never can again. He wants a simple problem to fix with simple answers. He wants to be respected again; he wants to have a job that helps people, not harms them. He wants- he wants- he wants to be a child again. No drunkenness, no pirates, no navy; no pain, no problems, no responsibilities.

James wants to start over. He knows, though, that that is never going to be possible. But he can make something out of what he has. He must; or else he’ll fade away into nothingness until he succumbs to death. With a heavy breath, James begins walking again. He has to find Jack. Everything will be better when he finds Jack. Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James's POV! What do you guys think? Hopefully this chapter puts some things into perspective about James- whose backstory, if you hadn't noticed, I've completely made up. I currently have 17 chapters written total, so I do have a plan for where this story is going.


	13. Stymphalia

Jack wakes and even before he opens his eyes, knows he’s in trouble. There’s an uproarious squawking around him, sounding rather like metal striking metal. The smell is worse than anything he’s ever dealt with- rotting flesh and animal droppings being the most noticeable. He opens his eyes slowly. He sees the sky first, cloudy and white.

Then he notices the brown at the edge of his vision. He turns his head and decides he must be in a bird’s nest, but more looking turns up no birds. Only twigs and feathers and leaves in an enormous nest. He is, of course, in the center of it.

With effort, Jack climbs up the edge of the nest. Holding himself to the edge, he immediately notices dozens of other nests scattered around the treetops. Most of them have birds in them. Huge, onyx creatures squawking and shrieking. He studies one near him and decides that the bronze-colored beak is sharp enough to neatly spear him through. He grimaces and begins planning an escape route.

How in the seven seas did he end up here? He’s no clue. He’d been running around by himself; he’d gotten cold… Yet, how he ended up in a bird’s nest at the top of a tree he cannot figure out. With a sigh, Jack slides down the side of the nest. The _other_ side of the nest, where he can hopefully begin to make his way down the tree. As his feet touch the branch the nest rests on, he can practically feel eyes boring a hole in his back. He turns slowly and stares into the red-red eyes of a nearby bird.

If Jack has ever felt fear before, it’s nothing compared to the chill that runs down his spine as he makes eye contact with the feather-covered beastie not two branches away from him. Even with the cold, he can feel a bead of sweat run down his neck. The beast raises its wings, turning more fully towards him, and lets out an ungodly screech. His stomach drops to his feet and then lower.

He takes off running. The branch is solid under him, but he’s paying more attention to the terror that’s made a home inside of his mind; he needs to get out of here as fast as he can. Something zooms past him, barely missing. He can feel the rush of air and staggers. He trips over a knot in the wood and rolls over the edge. Jack freefalls for a moment, air rushing past and almost covering up the sound of the shrieking. Then something surrounds him and he hits it, hard. Breathing raggedly, not just from the sudden landing, he grapples with the talons that close tightly around him. His hands wont stop shaking.

The bird drops him in a nest. Not the first one; this one is larger. Skeletal remains of some animal litters the nest. They’ve been picked clean of flesh, but blood still stains them. He promptly keels over and empties his stomach. He scrambles around until he finds a dip in the wall; then wedges himself into it. The birds could undoubtedly still reach him if they wanted, but he feels safer. Marginally. Jack still feels bone-chilling terror; his breath still comes out in small gasps. His vision blurs worse than when inebriated.

Goddamn devil birds. Devil birds from Hell. Why’d he have to find them now? Why not when James was around? Then at least James would’ve been able to follow the birds, find him. Or they’d die together. Better than dying alone. Again.

Again. He’s going to die. He’s going to die and nobody will ever find his remains or know what happened. And James will be alone- he’d dragged the man into this journey and now James will have to continue by his self. Because Jack wanted a moment? Because he didn’t want to be told what to do and what not to do? James was just trying to help!

Jack wedges himself deeper into the dip. The birds have grown louder; one is perched on the other side of him, on the edge of the nest. Its feathers shine in the light like metal. Birds can’t be made of metal, though. He’s daft, but not an idiot. Still, they glitter dangerously.

For a while, he fades in and out of an insensible stupor. Recognition of his situation only increases the feelings, and he loses himself to it time after time. A vicious cycle. Again and again his thoughts move to happenings in his past- the worst, the bloodiest, the most subduing.

He finds his gaze caught by one of the birds, only to find that it isn’t a bird in front of him but a man. An imposing man, a Navy man, one who commands attention and obedience without having to say a word- at first, the man grins at him, eyes sparkling. He wears nothing but a loose shirt and trousers, sitting mere inches from him. Jack blinks and the man now glares at him from another boat; now, the man is truly Navy. He is the one in command on that ship. And Jack? Jack has damned him to death.

Jack chokes back a sob and wrenches his gaze from the bird’s. His palms press against his eyes in a vain attempt to keep tears from forming.

He watches a ship explode from where it sits in the shallows and he wishes Amenirdis had done it sooner. He doesn’t mention that the pirates only attacked them because their Captain wants him dead.

Fire blazes in front of him. His ship, his lovely ship, is burning.

Jolly Roger sits across him at the table. The game of poker has begun, and Jack has no intention of losing it.

Jack sits on the sand of the desert island, marooned and mutinied-upon. Something simmers in his gut and his eyes turn towards his single-shot pistol. A pact is made, then, by himself to himself. Hector Barbossa will not escape revenge.

Jack stares at the black spot staining his hand and feels his knees tremble.

He watches his crew be killed and cooked and caged.

William Turner- that idiotic, naive, sincere, resolute lad- has come for _his_ help, as if he hasn’t already got a problem of his own. Beckett, regrettably, will have to wait.

Enormous tentacles enclose the Black Pearl as the crew escapes. His time is up, it seems. Jack swallows the lump in his throat and grins at the maw in front of him. _“Hello beastie.”_

It’s only vomiting and the sudden thought of his beloved Pearl that brings him back to reality for good. Jack shifts, muscles aching. He wonders how long he’s been cramped in the little space. Surely not long, or else would have been plucked out and eaten. They seem to want to do so. He can see several of them, perched atop the nest and staring at him. Yet none of them move.

_Are they waiting for something?_ He thinks. _Nighttime? More food? More_ birds _?_ Jack swallows and decides that the best thing to do is wait. Which he does, shivering inside his little space while the birds continue to glower at him with their beady red eyes. He’s distantly aware that he should be hungry- starving- and thirsty, but all he can feel is fear and coldness. And so he waits.

For days. _Four_ days, he counts. Four days and however long he was in a stupor. The birds come and go, though always one is around to keep its eyes on him. Four days, and then there’s the sound of something cracking. He moves feebly, crawling out of his hideout so he can try to spy what on earth made such a sound. The nest shudders and he rolls as it tilts sideways. He has just enough time to see the ground, far below and most certainly covered in hard snow, when something wraps around his leg and pulls him onto the branch. The nest teeters for a moment, birds no longer perched in it, and falls.

He gulps, beginning to feel overwhelmed by the sound of raucous squawks, when something touches his shoulder. He lurches.

“Jack!” James hisses. He sounds relieved. “It’s only me!”

Jack stops. “James? How’d ye get up here?”

“I climbed. Now, we really need to leave.” James stands, pulling him up as well. “Can you run?” He asks.

Jack rolls his shoulders. “I can try. Already tried once. Didn’t work.”

James grins mischievously. “You didn’t have fire.”

Jack blinks, then looks around. Sure enough, several of the other trees are burning. How did he not notice? Something cracks through the air. Birds fly around wildly. He lets James pull him along the branch towards the trunk, where he can see a burning twig set up near a hole like a torch.

“Mate, I’m really glad yer here. Dunno how ye found me but if ye hadn’t, I’d be bird food for sure,” Jack babbles. “Somethin’ like that, anyhow. How did ye find me?”

“Stymphalian Birds,” Is the only answer James supplies. They duck into the hole as one of the birds rakes past, talons outstretched.

Jack gulps. James holds the torch in front of them, illuminating the hideaway. It seems to go rather deep into the tree.

“We need to wait for the fire to spread a bit. The birds will be more concerned with that than catching you and me.” James tugs him further in. “Then we can descend and make our way carefully in another direction.”

Jack looks behind them just in time to see a bird ram its beak into the opening, covering it and keeping light from entering. The hole grows darker. The bird doesn’t seem daunted, instead trying to fit its beak deeper in. With an angry shriek, it tears away. He lets out a breath.

“Stop.” He mutters. James looks back, slowing, and Jack rips his arm out of his grasp and slumps over. His stomach heaves, forcing out nothing. He’s already thrown everything up. He stomach apparently doesn’t know that. He retches a few times. James’s hand rubs his back gently.

“I’m sorry.” James says.

“For what?” Jack mutters, confused.

James sits beside him. “I didn’t find you earlier.”

“Not yer fault, mate. I was th’ one that ran off.”

“Still.” James sighs. “I’ve been awful. I ran off first, remember? And then I wouldn’t even speak to you. I basically ignored you. You tried so hard to cheer me up, too…”

Jack cracks a smile. “Told ye it’d get worse. Really worse.”

James mirrors his smile. “Yes, you did. I should have believed you.” He sighs, then holds out his hand. “Truce, then? We’ll both try to be better about communication. And helping each other. We’re stuck here together.”

Jack takes the hand and gives it a shake. “Truce.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, before James stands and pulls him up as well. He takes the torch and starts for the entrance of the hole. They creep out slowly, wary of the frenetic energy of the birds and the fire causing it. Even though it makes the climb down harder, neither of them let go of each others’ wrist. Jack finds comfort in it. The closer they get to the ground the better Jack feels. The birds are up at the treetops; and all animals at the forest floor have been scared away by the fire.

The snow has melted at the feet of some of the trees. Not theirs, but the one next to it, and the one next to that, and so on, culminating in five trees where the base has melted the snow completely. They jump the last bit of distance- he’s never been so happy to be on solid ground. He’d stop and appreciate it, but James simply pulls him along, far from the tree and the birds and the fire.

They continue until the stars are high in the sky and the only way they can see in front of them is by the still-burning torch. Then, and only then, do they find a space under a bush and rest. He collapses on the cold ground. James sits beside him, releasing his wrist. Jack does the same with James’s.

“I could use a bath, mate.” Jack says finally.

James lets out a small laugh. “Agreed.”

“Ye didn’t throw up ‘r sit 'n a bird nest for days-?”

James looks at him through narrowed eyes. “I was talking about you.”

Jack blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“I didn’t think you’d be speechless!” James bursts out, covering his mouth as his shoulders shake with laughter.

Jack swats him halfheartedly. “Whatever.”

After a moment, James stops laughing, and they sit together in the darkness. The torch has nearly burnt itself out and the night is freezing; but Jack is just happy to be back with James and away from the avian terrors. The memories dredged up are terrible, yes, but he’s ignored them long enough that he can manage another night. He closes his eyes, intent on getting enough rest to be able to find food and continue their journey the next day without suffering. There’s a scraping, rustling sound, and Jack knows without looking that James has laid down.

“Do you want to hear a song?” James asks quietly.

“If ye feel like singin’.” Jack answers.

 

“I'm a snake in the grass

Watch your feet, let me pass

I'm tight and afraid

I can't eat I can't change

And all the little mice

Are dancing in sunlight

While I shuffle pass

Just a snake in the grass

And oh, I'm overcome

And oh, now I am new

 

“I am in love again

I am consumed by it

I am in love again

Under drugged and overdone

 

“I'm a snake on a shelf

Just a pile of myself

While the mice in the walls

Find joy in it all

But I'm bad, bred to suffer

In the dark, in this room

I'll explode, I'll escape

Get me out, make it soon

 

“Oh,

Oh, oh I am in love again

Oh, oh, I am consumed by it

Oh, oh, I am in love again

Under drugged and overdone...” James trails off. He takes a breath in through his nose, lets it out. He doesn’t continue.

Jack opens his eyes. Gingerly he turns onto his side; then, with hesitance, wraps his arm around James. It’s certainly an intimate gesture, but he means nothing but comfort by it. He just- he can’t pretend that everything is alright anymore. He rests his head against James’s shoulder. James takes another deep breath, and then his arm comes up to rest across Jack’s.

They say nothing, but he doesn’t think they need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song, if anyone is wondering, is Overdone by Ludo. Another song they've done is Rotten Town and if any song fits James-as-Scruffington, it's that song. This chapter is supposed to focus on Jack and how he feels about things going on, rather than Jack focusing on James, which has been basically the norm.  
> The birds are Stymphalian birds and they were one of Heracles's labours, but I did take liberty on their fear-inducing abilities, which isn't part of the mythos for them. Imagine like, a mix between Dementors and Ghost Rider's Penance Stare, but in bird form.


	14. Quintessence

They trudge slowly through the snow. A fox scampers past. A squirrel skitters up the trunk of a tree, reminding him of the mythological Ratatoskr that does the same. Snow crunches near-silently beneath their feet. Jack takes it all in. He enjoys the peace. The cold, however, could disappear and Jack would never miss it. He looks up at the white sky. Snowflakes fall gently, barely noticeable.

With a sigh, Jame reaches for his wrist and wraps his hand around it. Jack offers him a half smile. Something sarcastic comes to mind, but he doesn’t say it. Truth be told, he finds as much comfort in it as James does.

“Wanna talk, James?” Jack asks.

“Maybe.” James says.

“Take yer time.”

It’s almost an hour before James talks again. “We should stop.”

“Eh?” Jack says. He glances at James, who looks pained; he looks around and finally leads them to the base of a tree and sits.

“You were born on a ship, you said?” James asks.

Jack nods. “Me dad’s.”

“Does he still have it?”

“No, she was retired when I was still a lad.” Jack leans back against the bark. “Why?”

James sighs. “Do you miss her? Any of your old ships? Besides the Black Pearl, I know you love her.”

He thinks about it. “I don’t really think about that,” he decides. “Until the Pearl, home was just… where I lived at the time. Nothing special, long as I could sail.”

“I… I understand that.” James says. “We moved houses quite a bit, but we always stayed in the same general area. It wasn’t the house so much that was home, but the people inside of it.”

“Makes sense.”

James smiles sadly. “I’ll never see any of them again.”

“Ye keep saying that. Why?” Jack doesn’t really get attached to people. He can go years without seeing people, even those he likes, without being bothered by the time passing. But ‘can’t’ doesn’t sound like there’s much of a choice in the situation.

“It’s the same reason you’ve never heard of any of my stories or songs. They… don’t exist yet, technically.” James takes a breath. “They’re from a time that hasn’t come yet. Centuries from now. Same as me.”

Jack blinks. “So… ye’ve managed to-” he thinks about it “-travel through time, then?”

“Yes, exactly. And I have no idea how I did it, so I can’t go back to the time I’m from. I can’t see any of my family or old friends ever again. I’m stuck.”

“How long have ye been in this time?” Jack wonders. “Ye’ve been in the Caribbean as long as Elizabeth and William, so that’s nine years ‘r so. Plus however long ye were in the Navy b’fore that…”

“Since I was seventeen.”

“Seventeen!” Jack gapes. “Ye’ve been having adventures longer than Elizabeth an’ Will!”

“Well, I am older than them.” James says sarcastically.

“Well, s’not like the either of ‘em had an adventure until Barbossa kidnapped Elizabeth. And they’re both proper adults. Ye weren’t one yet.” Jack watches as James face become almost amused.

“I know that’s what you meant, dummy.”

“I don’t think that word means what ye think it means.” Jack says.

“It means exactly what I think it means. Language changes, Jack, especially in three hundred years. It means a mute right now, but in 2018? It means idiot. But in a nice way.” James frowns, looking sideways. “Sort of. It’s usually used in an affectionate way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” They look at each other for a moment. James growls in frustration. “I hate this century.” He mutters.

“Well, I like it jus’ fine.” Jack says petulantly.

“You’d like it less if you knew my century.” James releases his wrist and crosses his arms. “Women have no rights, people get hanged for sodomy, healthcare is practically nonexistent! It takes months to talk to someone across the sea and days to talk to someone in the next town.”

“An’ that’s different in 2018?” Jack asks, skeptical.

“Yes, it is. All of it. And I  _ hate  _ the way clothes feel- my officer’s uniform is the most  _ uncomfortable  _ thing I have ever had to wear.”

“Clothes?” Jack wonders. The last person he heard so concerned about clothes was Scarlett.

“I hate them.” Is all James adds on the matter. “The only enjoyable thing about this century is-” at that, he cuts himself off. “Nevermind.”

Jack shifts so that he can look at James without turning his head. “No, tell me! Please?” Never let anyone say that Jack Sparrow can’t be polite.

James shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“If ye say it, it’ll make ye feel better.” Jack says. “I won’t tell another soul. Not even Cotton’s parrot. Or Cotton without his parrot.”

“No.”

“If I tell ye that I don’t hate ye will you tell me?”

“No..?”

Jack scowls. “Well, if ye hate this century so much then I don’t see why ye weren’t a drunk much sooner than ye were.” He stands. “But, ye’ve been part o’ the Navy almost as long as ye’ve been here, an’ when ye lost yer position ye became a drunk, so maybe that’s it?” He paces around. “Except I know that. Wasn’t a surprise. So that can’t be it.”

“Jack…” James says.”

He strokes his beard. “But it  _ wasn’t  _ about the Navy, was it? It was about Elizabeth.” He grins triumphantly. “She was kidnapped by ol’ Barbossa, and ye went after her because ye loved her. Then she agreed t’ marry ye so ye would save William, and then William saved  _ me  _ at the gallows and she saved  _ him  _ there, too, and by extension me-” He takes in a breath. “An’ then ye gave me a day’s head start, an’ let Elizabeth be with William. Then ye joined me crew, for- lets see- Elizabeth, and then ye sacrificed yerself for Elizabeth again.”

James simply glares at him.

“So, the only enjoyable thing here in this century is Elizabeth.” He concludes.

“No.” James says flatly.

“No?” He can tell James isn’t lying. The man isn’t  _ that  _ great of a liar.

“No.”

Jack collapses to the ground. “Well, I  _ thought  _ I was right.” He mutters.

James hums. “You tried.”

Jack looks at the sky for a few minutes. “Tell me about 2018. Ye said somethin’ about healthcare? And talkin’ to people in different places.”

“Well, for one, the Consumption is an easily treatable disease.”

“No!” Jack gasps. “How?”

“Biology.” James says. “Science has gotten a lot more knowledgeable. And we have machines that can go speeds impossible for horses. Machines meaning, um, think of carts? But without the horses. And made of metal. And they- well, we’ll say they run on lantern oil.”

“Sounds false.”

“Yes, I know. Some of them can fly, and they can cross the entire ocean in a day. Boats are much faster, and much larger. They’re almost always made of metal. But we also have tiny machines, as small as our hands, that we can use to talk to people instantaneously, no matter how far away they are. We call them phones.”

Jack stares at the sky, imagining.

“And we have televisions, where we can watch almost anything. Imagine a play, but recorded so that someone can watch it anywhere as long as they have a television. And it seems almost as if they’re watching it in person.”

“Not sure I can imagine that, mate.”

“Well, I’m sure that the ancient Greeks and Romans never thought about the possibility of guns, so you’ll have to believe me. Clothes are much more comfortable, but they’re mass produced. Some places will make hundreds of thousands of shirts or pants or jackets in one day. Sometimes they’re pretty cheaply made, and not the best quality, but there’s tons of different types of fabrics. One of the most popular types of pants are Jeans, but I absolutely hate them. I hate the way they feel.”

Jack hums. “Go on.”

“Women are equal to men, at least in some parts of the world. The rest hasn’t caught up yet. Same with-” James pauses. “Same with people who love others of the same gender. A lot of the world is more lenient about that. Some places will still accuse people of sodomy, unfortunately. And even in the places where it’s legal, not everyone accepts it. Those people are assholes.” James mutters the last part. “I’d say there’s less crime, but I’m not entirely sure about that, to be honest. I know for sure that every crime is a hell of a lot more widespread about who knows about it. People grow up surrounded by the news of every bad thing that happens.”

“Is piracy still going on?” Jack asks.

“Well, sort of. That’s a type of crime that’s become a bit lackluster.”

“Sounds terrible.”

James scoffs. “Of course you would find that terrible.”

“I was talkin’ about th’ other part, actually. Surrounded by bad news an’ all.”

“Oh.” James says. “Well, it can be pretty bad. But it also means the good things are passed around just as easily. And it’s easier to  _ arrange  _ something good, or  _ react  _ to the bad. I… I really do miss it. I miss debating with my sister about politics and our favorite movies. I miss my cats. I was going to become a marine biologist, you know. But after I found myself in the wrong century… nobody would have listened to me. The closest I could get was to be a sailor, and I figured the navy wouldn’t be too terrible. I could help people, and I could still enjoy the sea.”

“Y’ like helping people.” It’s more of a comment than a question.

“Yes, I do.” James sighs. “I don’t like it when people in power take from those who have none.”

“Ah, so yer a real Robin Hood, then?” Jack chuckles.

James laughs, startled. “I’d forgotten that story is this old. Yeah, Lauren would have been Robin Hood. I’m the man that uses the law to help the innocent. Even if it fails…”

They talk for the rest of the day, with James trying- and failing- to explain more things about his time, and his family, and his old life. Jack finds it interesting, this whole other world, even if things about it completely evade him. And he finds himself understanding why James had snapped that night.

“Y’know, James.” Jack says, long after the sun has set. “I think I know what th’ only enjoyable part of this time is.”

“And what’s that?” James asks.

“Th’ people. That’s what ye seem t’ focus on, anyway. Th’ people around ye. N’ people don’t seem t’ have changed between this time an' that.” Jack shifts slightly closer to their fire. “Am I right?”

James smiles into the flames. “Yes.”

“See, that wasn’t hard t’ admit.” Jack crows.

“No, I guess not. And… you’re a part of that too, Jack.” James looks embarrassed. “You’re a criminal, but a good man. Elizabeth and Will were right about that.”


	15. Transformation

“James!” Jack hisses. James doesn’t stir.  _ “James!”  _ He says louder, prodding the man in the shoulder.

James opens one eye and glares. “What?” He mutters. A yawn overtakes him.

“The sky, mate. Look!” With that Jack turns his attention to the sky in question. Usually dark and crowded with clouds, the sky is instead shimmering with light. Green waves undulate slowly, as if they have an eternity to exist and intend on using it all. It’s oddly calming; yet, at the same time he’s filled with inexplicable wonder.

This is not the first time he’s seen Aurora Borealis, though certainly they aren’t familiar with each other. Beside him, James sits up and gasps. A smile makes its way to his face, and they spend some time watching the sky’s waves move only barely faster than clouds without wind.

“I’ve never seen the Northern Lights before.” James murmurs. Jack spares him a look and decides he likes the childlike astonishment written across his features. James’s lips are slightly parted, almost a smile…

“It really is stunning.” Jack says. “I’ve seen it twice; th’ second time, there were purples an’ blues…”

James leans into him. “I always thought it would move quicker. It’s not disappointing, though.”

Jack swallows.

“There’s a story where I come from… it was made by a famous company, but it’s never been one of the more popular stories - called Brother Bear. I came across it when I was little, I barely remember the first time I saw it, other than that I fell in love with it. It’s about an Inuit boy named Kenai. He tracks down a bear in revenge for a battle that he provoked that his older brother died in, but when he kills the bear, the Spirits aren’t happy for the needless death and turn him into a bear to punish him. In order to become human again, Kenai has to learn to see through another's eyes, feel through another's heart, and discover the meaning of brotherhood. And… he has to travel to a mountain where the Northern Lights touch the earth. It’s one of my favorites, but incredibly hard to explain. It’s meant to be seen, not read or listened about. A play, but you have to see it, not read it, if you want to understand it.

“I’ve always wished it had more attention. So many of the company’s other stories have been popular but- to me, at least- bland. Not really worthy of all the attention, at least, compared to the less- liked ones.” James sighs. “The Northern Lights were used beautifully in it- during the scene where he transformed into a bear, and the song that played- it was in Inupiaq, I think, but someone did an official English cover.”

They watch the lights for a bit longer.

“Sing th’ song?” Jack asks. James has shared just enough information to get him really and truly interested, of course.

James hums. “I can’t do it justice.”

“Ye’ve sung lots o’ other songs.” Jack says pleadingly.

James opens his mouth, as if to argue, but only sighs. “I suppose… I only know the English version, and it isn’t nearly as good as the original. You’ll be sorely disappointed.

 

“Come with me, I'll take you now

To a place that you fear for no reason why

Your heart has turned away from me

And I will make you understand

 

Everything will become clear to you

When you see things through another's eyes

Everything will become clear to you

Whatever's meant for you, you will find

 

Come with me, I'll take you there

To a place where you'll see

Everything you need to be the one you need to be

And all of those things that you feared

Will disappear from you in time

 

Everything will become clear to you

When you see things through another's eyes

Everything will become clear to you

Whatever's meant for you, you will find.”

 

The last note seems to echo in the air as if the Aurora doesn’t want to let the song end quite yet. The coldness of the night seems to heighten the feeling. James, beside him, is quiet and still. Yet Jack feels entirely the opposite. Rather than calmness, he feels a burning feeling deep in his stomach. His feet itch with the want to move, to walk, to run. The itch spreads under his skin, igniting the fire that had been dulled for so long.

Though he and James have been traveling for weeks, months, the reasoning had been born from critical thought. Jack hadn’t wanted to stay in the Locker. He hadn’t wanted to spend eternity in a desert, forever feeling death creeping up because of thirst and heat exhaustion. He had walked, and walked, and suffered.

Yet his wanderlust, his free spirit, his yearning for the sea and salty air, had not really factored into the equation. Any man would have done exactly as Jack had, though with perhaps less dramatics. He’s wandered because he has to, because he wants to, yes; the same way anyone would travel to find their way out of a mess, to be less  _ lost _ . Sitting with James, staring at the snakelike curves of the Aurora Borealis, he finds himself wanting to be free of this place more than ever. He wants his Black Pearl, he wants to sail, he wants to feel the wind against his face, he wants to be  _ free- _ The sudden reawakening of his wanderlust takes his breath away. He forces himself to take in a breath, shallow and tremulous, and expels it with just as much effort.

In the Aurora, ghosts of ships sail the heavens. The masts are tall, sails open and billowing, and Jack imagines he can see crews of men attending to their sky- ships. Green sea monsters accost them to no avail and sink back into the waves, defeated. He wishes he were up there as well.

“Jack?” James says. He sits straight, no longer leaning on Jack for support. “Are you alright?”

“Jus’ thinking.” He says. “I miss th’ Pearl something fierce.” He turns to James, intending to say more, but finds once again he’s breathless.

James’s eyes are the same color as the Aurora.

James tilts his head, brow creasing. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look- feverish. I hope you aren’t coming down with something.” Without waiting for a response James removes his hand from inside his sleeve and places the back of it on Jack’s forehead.

Jack moves his head away. “I’m not sick.”

Perhaps James’s eyes aren’t the same color as the ribbons in the sky. Perhaps they only  _ reflect  _ the light, a mirror of the real thing. Yet if so, why isn’t the rest of James viridescent? Why isn’t the entire night a haze of glittering emerald, beryl, chartreuse, jade? Why can he see the color of James’s eyes at all? Everything else is in shadow, washed- out and faint in color and personality. Except for the sky and James’s eyes.

If Jack is like the sea, then James is like the sky. That much becomes clear to him the longer he stares at James and James stares back, growing concern appearing on the other man’s face. Both so similar, yet so different. The sea doesn’t like to be trapped, to be forced, and shows it with wild waves and dark waters. The sky- how does one trap the sky? How does one force the sky to do anything it doesn’t want to be when the sky cannot be truly touched? The sea will compromise, allow people to sail and swim and fish in it on good days. The sky hasn’t even a surface to hold. James is like that.

James had spent his life in the Navy, earning promotions and respect and becoming the youngest Commodore there ever was. He had refused to let Jack tell him what to do against Barbossa and his crew, even though Jack had obviously more experience with the cursed pirates. He had sailed through a hurricane! Though it hadn’t turned out well, it had certainly been a spurn towards fate and logic. And even after months rotting away as a drunkard in Tortuga- James had bided his time until he could get what he wanted: his life back, Jack dead. And certainly, he has a personality to match the sky. Jack’s seen it himself, how easily and quickly James can go from happy to angry to impassive. Sunny to stormy to cloudy.

“Jack?” James says. His lips are thin, eyes furrowed. A gentle breeze in a blue-gray sky…

“I’m all right.” Jack mutters. He tears his eyes away, looking back at the real sky where the Aurora Borealis is beginning to fade. “I miss th’ sea, James. Her gentle waves ‘n even th’ tallest, most dangerous ones. I’m made f’r warmth ‘n a burning sun, not ice ‘n snow. There’s no salt ‘n th’ air, just frost. I feel trapped ‘n me own skin.”

“Everything out there… in the real world, the living world… it seems almost distant. Like it all happened to someone else. A storybook you crave to be a part of.” James says. “Doesn’t it?”

Why does James’s voice remind him of a starlit night?

“That’s a way ta put ‘t.” Jack curls into himself, laying down once again. James joins him. “Sort o’ feels like I’m two people. Captain Jack Sparrow, with th’ Black Pearl beneath me feet and water all around- an’ me now, an inch tall an’ wrapped in all sorts o’ plant matter, laying next t’ a man who's tried t’ kill me more’n once. Wandering around with no clue as t’ where t’ go ‘r where we’re heading, hoping everything’ll turn out alright. Captain Jack Sparrow an’ his counterfeit.”

“No.” James says.

Jack blinks, surprised by the ferocity in such a simple word. “No?”

“We aren’t mockeries. We aren’t shadows. And we aren’t going to let this place quell our spirits, Jack. We’re  _ not _ . Do you understand me?” James sits up again, grabbing him and forcing him up as well. There’s a fervent look in James’s Aurora- green eyes. “Why should it? What could the afterlife get out of forcing us to our knees and changing our characters? So we  _ will  _ get out of here, and we  _ will  _ continue to be Captain Jack Sparrow and James Norrington. We don’t have to be the same, but we don’t have to become colorless shadows of maybe-us’s.”

“Ye think so?” 

“I  _ know  _ so.” James grins with newfound determination. “Trust me, where I come from this is the only way people my age get anything done. Spite, really. Why should the world beat us down? Why should we let it? I don’t want anyone to benefit from my pain. Not anymore.”

Slowly, Jack smiles. “Where d’ye suggest we head next?” 

James considers it for a moment. “We should follow the stars.”

“Like any good seaman, I suppose.”

James seizes him again, pulling him this time to his feet. “Right now we’re Lewis and Clark, exploring the western part of American territory. Of course, you’ve never heard of them, because they don’t exist yet, but that won’t put a damper on this. We’ve got a continent to explore, and we’re bound to come across civilization eventually. And honestly, we’ve already completed a portion of the Expedition, so things should be looking up.”

Smiling, Jack lets James tug him away from their camp and into the dark forest. “Have ye at least got a traveling song?”

With a quiet laugh, James launches into song:

“Look out new world here we come…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Brother Bear is an amazing Disney movie, if you ask me. I've actually only seen it once, when I was like 5, but from what I remember it was great, and I couldn't help put it into the story. If you haven't seen it before, go find it somewhere and watch it because I'm sure you won't be disappointed.  
> It seems like things are looking up for James and Jack...


	16. Sonnets 29_30

Halfway through James’s speech about varying Greek myths, Jack notices a shadow fall over them. Looking up, he recognises the dark feathers of a bird flying between tree branches. He swallows thickly.

“James- think we ought t’take cover.” He mutters.

“Hm?” James stops. “Take cover?”

Jack motions above them.

“Oh. Did they follow us, do you think?” James sounds annoyingly unbothered.

“Who cares? We’ve got one of th’ devil birds around, an’ it’s probably here for us.” Jack glances around, spying a notch in the base of a nearby tree. He grabs James’s wrist and tugs him over to it.

“Devil birds? They’re Stymphalian Birds.”

“I’ve not a clue what that means, James. An’ I really don’t care. They ain’t anything good, that’s for certain.” Jack walks as far back into the hole as he can, still holding James’s wrist in an iron grip.

“Stymphalian birds are man-eating birds. They have bronze beaks and sharp feathers they can launch at a moment’s notice. They were the sixth labour of Heracles. The Argonauts also came across them at one point.” James sits, leaning against the wooden wall.

Jack frowns. “They’re Greek?” He harrumphs. “So’s maybe yer talking about mythology brought them back here.”

“Maybe.” James agrees.

A bone-chilling screech reverberates through the air. Jack grimaces. “Or maybe we just walked back t’ their nests.” He mutters.

“Bringing back bad memories?” James says softly.

“More’n ye know.” He curls his knees to his chest. More screeches follow the first, echoing in his head painfully.

James shifts closer. An arm wraps around his shoulders. “Look, you don’t have to talk about it. But if you want to? I won’t judge, okay?”

“D’ye know any Spanish?” Jack asks.

“...A bit. Technically I’m supposed to be fluent, but considering the American school system is a joke, I’m very far from it.” James laughs softly. “Why?”

“I knew a Spaniard once.” He glances at the entrance of their hiding hole. “Intimately.”

“I see?” James says. “Yeah, no, I don’t. What about her?”

“Him, actually.” He looks at James out of the corner of his eyes to gauge the reaction. James blinks.

“Oh. I had no idea you- well, it doesn’t matter. Do the birds make you think of him?”

“Yes, an’ I wish they didn’t. We didn’t end ‘n good terms, ta put ‘t lightly.” Jack closes his eyes, seeing a smile and shining white teeth… “He’s dead, an’ I’m glad he is.”

“It ended that terribly?”

“He tried t’ kill me first. An’ me dad.” He sighs. “An’ every other pirate ‘n existence…”

James coughs delicately. “Jack? You had relations with Captain Armando Salazar, didn’t you?”

He whips his head around so quickly it hurts. “How ‘n the blazes did ye figure that out?!”

For his part, James looks embarrassed. “Well, I looked into you… After the fiasco with Barbossa, I mean. To better catch you…” James rubs his hand through his hair. “You were on the only surviving ship that fought against him, the last time he was heard from- well, he died then, it’s obvious. And he promised to eradicate pirates, the great El Matador del Mar.” 

Jack scowls. “Well, remind me not t’ give ye even bit o’ knowledge about things I don’t want ye knowing about, because ye’ll clearly figure ‘t out.” 

“Yes, sir.” James says with a smirk. “Then again, I would very much like to hear how that even happened, and what other ridiculous relationships you’ve gotten yourself into in the past.”

“Ye aren’t hearing ‘t.” Jack says.

“Absolutely nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Now you’ve gotten me interested.” James tilts his head and- pouts? James Norrington,  _ pouting? _

Jack opens his mouth, closes it. “Stop that.” He says finally, for lack of anything else to say. James pouting is- extremely strange, to say the least. And he’s seen the man drunk, depressed, and absolutely angry.

“Stop what?”

“Stop pouting!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” James smiles innocently.

Jack pokes James in the chest. “Right-”

There’s another screech, and then the entrance to their hideaway is blocked by a razor-sharp beak. With a shriek, Jack lurches away and ends up in James’s lap. He grips James’s arm tightly as the bird attempts to get further in to get them.

“Jack?” James murmurs. An arm wraps around him.

Jack just tries not to throw up.

The beak disappears, but the bird doesn’t, stalking around the entrance of the hole.

“Y’know, James, I told ye a story, think ye should tell one now. About a relationship gone wrong, preferably.” Jack manages.

“The only relationship I’ve ever been in was with Elizabeth, and we both know that didn’t turn out well. It wasn’t much of a relationship, anyway.” James says. “I’ve had a fair amount of people  _ want  _ to be in a relationship before. I’ve never really been interested, though.”

The bird screeches again.

“Ever had anyone want ye dead? Personally, particularly?” Jack asks.

“I really don’t think we should be talking about this right now.” James shifts. “In fact, I think this is the last sort of thing we should be talking about right now. These birds  _ do  _ seem to bring out the worst thoughts and memories.”

“Something happy, then?” He keeps his eyes on the entrance, though the bird doesn’t make a reintroduction.

“Did I ever tell you the first time I met Lieutenant Gillette?” 

“That’s the fellow I commandeered the Dauntless from, yes?”

“Yep. When we met, he had just come over from England. I didn’t meet him right off the boat- I wasn’t yet a Captain, it wasn’t that important that I see the new arrivals. In any case, I happened to be walking through the Fort with Captain Harolds- I can’t remember what we were talking about. But we were walking, and we rounded a corner and immediately heard shouting of all sorts. So we rounded the next corner, as quickly as we could, and found Lieutenant Gillette in a shouting match with Lieutenant Groves! Neither of them were Lieutenants at the time, and if they had been, I’m sure they would have been demoted.

“It was luckily only verbal, but I have a feeling that if we’d shown up much later it would’ve become physical. Captain Harolds stopped the fight and I just stood there, surprised. I’d never once heard Groves raise his voice, except to be heard during battle. He’s one of the most laid back people I’ve ever met, so to see him screaming like that- I wondered what Gillette had done.” James laughs. “As it turns out, it was nothing more than a stupid disagreement and weariness on both their parts. After that they were the best of friends; it’s why I had them both as my Lieutenants.”

Jack smiles. It’s small, and disappears quickly. Slowly he extracts himself from James’s lap, despite the now-constant screeching of the Stymphalian beasts. He takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”

James smiles knowingly. “It’s no problem. The best way to get rid of bad thoughts is to tell good ones. And distraction. That works pretty well.”

“Not every bad thought goes away that easily.”

“I didn’t say it was a permanent solution.” James shrugs. “I know it isn’t. But right now telling nice stories is a good idea, if you ask me. So…” James cocks his head, smirk playing at his lips. “Have you ever heard the story of Updog?”

“What’s Updog?... James? James, why’re ye laughing? What’s so funny? James?”

But James only laughs harder, eyes shining.

Scowling, but only half serious, he swats the man in the shoulder. “Alright, keep laughing. I’ll get back at ye sooner ‘r later.” But James’s laughter is contagious, and he finds himself chuckling along, oblivious as he is.

“I’m sorry. “James gasps. “It really shouldn’t be this funny to me, you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“I couldn’t help myself. Ah, better story, this happened when we were around fifteen. We were at our father’s house, and none of our parents were around, so it was just me, Lauren, Lindsey, Hayley, and Duncan. Our parents were gone for the weekend, by the way. We got through the first half of Saturday just fine, until about one in the afternoon. So we’re playing a board game when suddenly Lauren, sitting beside me, goes ‘oh, my stomach's not so good’. So she ended up getting extremely sick, going from joking around to  _ writhing  _ on the couch.

“Lindsey called her mom, because she wasn’t sure if we should go to the hospital or something- Lauren was  _ not  _ doing so well, but we weren’t sure if it was just a stomach bug or flu, or something more serious. But her mom just said Lauren should drink some water and stay hydrated.” James laughs. “Lauren said it felt like food poisoning, which she’s had before. So we’re talking, trying to figure out what to do, when Lauren just gets up and goes to the bathroom and starts throwing up- it was terrible, I didn’t even realize someone could vomit that much up at once.”

Jack snorts. “Sounds horrible.”

“Oh, I’m not done. She came out, Lindsey had hung up the phone, and she seemed alright for a while, like she’d thrown up whatever had been making her sick. We continued our board game like nothing had happened. But after about twenty minutes- well, Lauren described it to me as her body going ‘Hey Lauren, you’re not feeling fine!’- but anyway, all of the sudden she went from mildly frustrated about her earlier bout of vomiting but otherwise happy to  _ violently shaking. _ Hayley just asked ‘uh, Lauren, are you alright?’ and I looked at her, her eyes were watering, she was wearing a jacket, and she goes  _ ‘it’s just so cold’ _ .” James stops, chuckling. “It was the most pitiful voice I’ve ever heard. It was at that moment I realized that we were not going to have a fun night, at all. So we got her in bed, but we were all afraid of leaving her alone so we were all crowded around it, and she asked if we’d go get her ginger ale, so Duncan and I went and got some from the kitchen and left Lindsey and Hayley to watch over her.”

“When we got back into her room-” James breaks off, snickering. “We brought some chips, because it was basically the only snack food we had in the house but we figured she should eat something. So Duncan asked Lauren if she wanted pretzels or sunchips and she just.” James laughs again. “She mumbles ‘I just… wanna make sure that… I don’t fuck anything up.’”

Jack claps a hand over his mouth. _ “What?!” _

“Oh yeah, she was extremely delirious at that point. She continued, too. ‘Which one has less salt? I just want to make sure I’m making the right choice.’ And we were just like ‘Okay Lauren, we’re just gonna leave the sunchips here because they have less salt, whatever that means. And then she just,  _ leaped  _ out of bed and ran to the bathroom to throw up, when we heard a loud thud and then a yell that was definitely  _ louder _ . What had happened was that she ran into the bathroom and the toilet seat was down, so she lifted it up as she kneeled to throw up. Except-” James makes a choking noise, grinning ear to ear. Jack’s sure his face is a mirror image. “When she started vomiting the seat _ fell back down _ onto her and she slammed her face into the toilet and sliced her lip open. So then she was vomiting, and bleeding profusely, and all the rest of us were still wondering what the noise was. Blood was just  _ everywhere _ . It looked worse than some battles I’ve been in. So Hayley and Duncan had to go find the first aid kit, which we’d basically never used. Everytime Lauren vomited blood was launched around the bathroom, it went everywhere. It was on the floor, the walls, the toilet. Then when she finished vomiting she tried to clean the mess up, we had to force her out of the bathroom. Duncan and I ended up cleaning up the blood while Lindsey dealt with her lip with Hayley trying not to pass out- she was eleven, I think, and not at all used to that much blood or vomit.

“We couldn’t get some of the blood off, unfortunately, and Lindsey couldn’t stop the bleeding. We had to call an ambulance to bring Lauren to the hospital, because none of us drove- Lindsey was the only one old enough to and she hadn’t learned yet- and we weren’t going to try to walk all the way. She ended up with three stitches and a scar.”

They laugh about it for a few minutes, Jack trying to imagine three fifteen year olds, one eleven year old, and one seventeen year old try to deal with the chaos of vomit and blood.

“Ye an’ yer sister really knew how t’ have a good time.” Jack says.

“Oh yes, it was extremely pleasant. We used an entire bottle of peroxide to try to get the bloodstains out and half a bottle of bleach, and the room  _ still  _ smelled like puke and blood for days. That shouldn’t happen.” James grins at him. “She just had the stomach bug, too. And very bad luck.”

Jack glances at the entrance of their hideaway, only to realize- he hasn’t noticed the sound of birds in a while. Have the beasts flown away? Or are they waiting for him and James to crawl out into the open. He says as much to James, who shrugs.

“We can’t stay in here forever. Then again, we haven’t been in here for long. Only, what, ten minutes?” James pauses. “We should wait a while longer, then leave. Or- it’s early morning, we were walking most of the night. Maybe we should camp here. I did say that we might lose our way during the day without the stars to guide us.”

“Whatever ye say, James.” Jack stretches. “Now that ye say ‘t, I  _ am  _ tired. Let’s just hope I don’t have nightmares. Wouldn’t want t’ kick ye t’ death.”

With a smirk, James stretches out on the ground. “I’m sure I would wake up before you killed me. Besides, what would you be having a nightmare of? Throwing up?”

“Swimming ‘n lip blood, more like.” Jack joins him. “Or swimming ‘n vomit. Don’t think either would be very pleasant.”

James turns onto his stomach. “Goodnight, Jack. Sweet dreams.”

He blinks.  _ Sweet Dreams? _ James has never said that before. Looking at the man out of the corner of his eye, he wonders if it was intentional or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story about the sickness- it is not mine, I didn't make it up nor did it happen to me, it was taken somewhat word-for-word from Game Grumps episode Sonic '06: The Shadow Campaign part 42. I changed some things to better fit this story, but otherwise it's the exact story told in that episode. Full credit goes to Arin and Jon for telling the story and living it, unfortunately for Arin.  
> On another note- it's my birthday! You get an update on my birthday! Otherwise this would have been posted this coming Sunday.


	17. Root Issues

James is humming a song, kicking around small pebbles as they pace the edge of a river. Despite the low temperature, the river hasn’t completely frozen over. Luckily they don’t need to cross it.

“Ye know, James, I’ve been thinking.” Jack says suddenly.

James looks over. “You, thinking?” He says sarcastically. Oops- he probably shouldn’t have said that.

Jack swats him in the shoulder. “Thought we were friends?”

“Sorry.” 

_ “I’ve been thinking,”  _ Jack repeats. “About th’ other day, with th’ birds.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Okay? Is it about Updog?”

“What’s- Goddamn ye, I almost did ‘t again! No, it aint about that! I don’t care, ‘n I don’t think I’d understand if ye explained it ta me.” Jack crosses his arms. “Yer good at distractions.”

_ What? _ “I’m confused.”

Jack huffs. “Well, ye distracted me from the thought o’ th’ birds with stories. An’, yes, the Updog-whatever-that-is. Ye talked about where th’ birds came from all unperturbed-like, instead o’ worrying about them killing us. Or letting me think about that. When I mentioned nightmares, we both knew I wasn’t talking about nightmares about yer story. An’- the pouting!”

“What about it?” James says blandly, but he can feel a blush creeping up his neck.

“Ye don’t pout.”

“Well, I did.”

“Yes, exactly. Ye were trying t’ distract me, weren’t ye? By acting strange.” Jack says.

James sighs. “Fine. Yes, I was trying to distract you. Just never mention that again, alright? I have some dignity, you know. I don’t want it to be known I was caught… pouting.” Jack just raises an eyebrow, and he snorts. “I don’t care if I’ve been a drunken mess before, pouting is another matter entirely. I was a member of the royal navy, getting drunk is normal. When not on duty, at least. Pouting isn’t.”

Jack laughs. “I won’t say anything, promise. I had a point- I wasn’t just saying yer good at distracting.”

“And that was?” James tilts his head, interested. In the distance, a fox barks.

“Well, there’s a reason yer a natural distractionist-”

“I don’t think that’s a word-”

“An’ I think ‘t has t’ do with how ye don’t talk about yer feelings.” Jack finishes.

James freezes as a wave of anxiety washes through his entire body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says curtly. He narrows his eyes at Jack.

“An’ know ye’ve proved me point.” Jack seems unbothered by his glare.

“I  _ don’t  _ want to talk about it.”

“An’ that’s exactly what got ye into trouble! It ain’t good to keep things bottled up ‘nside.” Jack throws his hands up. “I know I ain’t a good role model, James. I drink too much, don’t get close t’ anyone, because when I do it seems to bite me ‘n th’ arse. But I  _ do  _ things t’ get ‘t out. Ye don’t, until ye can’t keep ‘t in anymore. Then ye have a breakdown, or hye sail a ship ‘nto a hurricane, or-”

James grabs him by the front of his shirt. _ “Stop. Talking.” _ He can feel rage starting to burn through him, making his hands shake and a lump form in his throat.

“Not until ye start!” Jack snaps. “Look, ye bloody idiot! Ye’ve already had a breakdown once while we’ve been trying t’ get out ‘f here. I don’t want t’ have t’ deal with another one! An for all yer acting, I can tell ye aren’t as optimistic as ye pretend t’ be.” He wrestles out of James’s grasp, stepping back until there’s a foot of space between them.

“Why do you care?” James snaps. “Why on  _ Earth  _ would you care about my feelings? You think I can’t hold it together long enough to get out of here? Let me remind you, you were the one trapped in a bird’s nest for days, sitting in his own vomit!”

Jack blinks. His shoulders drop. “I care about yer bloody feelings because I care about ye.” He says quietly. “An’ I don’t like t’ see ye hurting.”

James opens his mouth. “Jesus.  _ Fuck _ .” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly worn. 

“Just talk t’ me, please.” Jack continues. James notices his face is red. “Before we get bad again. So we can move on, for real.”

James grimaces, a feeling like bugs crawling under his skin emerging. “I don’t know how.” He mutters. “I’m not good at it.”

“Ye’ll only get better by practicing.”

James sits, suddenly, on the rocks, ignoring the chill that seeps through him. He closes his eyes. If Jack were to ask, he would say that it’s because he’s annoyed, or he has a headache- and that’s exactly what Jack means, isn’t it? He won’t tell Jack he’s holding back tears. He’ll barely admit that to himself. He grits his teeth and exhales. Opening his eyes again, he watches Jack sit in front of him. 

“Ye don’t like t’ talk about yer feelings because they make ye feel bad. I get ‘t. But then everything builds up, and ye break down because ‘f the pressure, then ye feel alright again for a while, an’ it starts all over again.” Jack stares at him insistently. “An’ I don’t want t’ watch ye do that again. I wasn’t going t’ say anything until I realized how ye get around ‘t all- ye distract yerself, ye distract others, and if ye have t’ say something ye make sure ‘t ain’t anything that really bothers ye so it’s easy t’ say.”

“I don’t like feeling upset.” James says. “I’d rather be happy; wouldn’t everyone? So I just… ignore the bad.”

“Ye can’t ignore ‘t forever.”

“Yes, I know. That’s the problem, and we both know it.” James smiles, but he doesn’t really feel it.

They sit there for a while, watching each other, watching the sky and river and trees, both unsure of how to continue. James thinks about the day of his promotion-how nervous he’d been, and excited; how difficult it had been to propose to Elizabeth. How terrible he’d felt after she’d fallen, knowing he had had a hand in it. And then, days later, knowing that Elizabeth would never be happy with him. He’d retracted his proposal as courteously as he could and spent the next months obsessing over catching Jack Sparrow, as if the pirate had ever been the cause of his problems. Honestly, Jack had probably done more to help him than harm him. And he’d still blamed Jack, allowing the hatred to simmer as he drank himself into oblivion-

Alcoholism has always run in his family.

“I told you, how my sister and I had to switch schools?” He starts. Jack glances at him, then nods. “I didn’t go into any more detail, I know. And there was a reason for that. Neither of us wanted to. I remember that Lauren would cry hysterically every time we went past out old school, which was unfortunately often because we still lived in the same area, as did most of our family. It happened for about three years, until she started making friends in our new school.”

“It took three years for her t’ make new friends?”

“Lauren is shy around people she doesn’t know. Neither of us had ever really needed to make friends- five year olds just notice kids their age and go with the flow. Nine and ten year olds? Not so much, especially shy ones. And our new school had about triple the amount of students. Lauren spent most of her time reading books. I, on the other hand…” James trails off. He swallows. “Lauren made it clear she didn’t like the changes, even if she didn’t say it outright. I didn’t like it but I never said a word. I did the only thing I could think of, because I knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were. I joked around a lot, tried to make everyone like me. If anyone asked how I felt I said I was fine, and then did as much as I could to get attention off of that question. Lauren would say the same thing; she was fine, she was learning, et cetera. She gave people time to think about what she said, whether it was the truth or not. I didn’t.”  
With a humming noise, Jack shifts closer. “Not yer fault for not wanting to talk about ‘t. Yer parent’s should’ve paid more attention.”

“Probably.” James agrees. “But in any case, I don’t think anyone realized how much moving schools actually affected us. Well, more so me than Lauren. It’s kind of funny, actually, how we reacted- Lauren isolated herself more, I became more outgoing. We both hid our feelings, but she did it by keeping to herself and focusing on school. I wanted people to like me. My social life was everything.”

Jack smiles. “Not too hard now, is it?” He says.

“Oh no, this physically pains me, I assure you.” James matches the smile. “Now it’s your turn, okay? Tell me about how you got that brand.”

For a moment, Jack looks like a deer in headlights. Then he schools his features. “Guess it’s only fair.” He says. “The short answer is that I made Beckett angry. Th’ long answer- I took a bit ‘f a break from Piracy, not long after everything went down with Salazar. Started working for th’ East India Trading Company, under Beckett. Did a lot, an’ then I had th’ chance t’ buy back me Pearl- course, she was called th’ Wicked Wench at th’ time. All I had t’ do was one last shipload- the only sort ‘f cargo I’d always refused.”

“What was it?” James asks, curious.

“Not what.  _ Who _ . Slaves. An’ I did, mostly, until I couldn’t bear ‘t anymore. I set them free, and Beckett found out. He found me, and ordered th’ Pearl burned and sent t’ the bottom ‘f the ocean. He branded me as a pirate, wanted me t’ watch me ship be destroyed. I escaped an’ tried t’ save her but I got trapped ‘n th’ Captain’s quarters.” Jack frowns, stroking his beard. “Didn’t work how I wanted ‘t to. I called on Davy Jones, promised him a hundred years service if he could bring back th’ Pearl an’ me and give us thirteen years.”

“How dreadful.” James deadpans. “Both Beckett and Jones turn up at the same time looking for revenge, and you barely got any time with your ship in the end.”

“Well, I had a plan. Not  _ my  _ fault ye stole th’ heart and gave ‘t t’ Beckett. An’ it ain’t my fault Barbossa mutinied.”

“Seems like all of your misfortunes are unequivocally connected.”

“An’ ye make yers connected by not bloody talking about them.”

James smirks. “Yes, completely true. But at least my past comes back only emotionally. Yours comes back and wants to kill you.”

Jack shoves him. He falls onto his back, landing roughly, but laughing. The white sky stares back at him, revealing nothing. “You know, I’ve just thought of something. About my past, I mean.”

“Oh?” Jack’s face blocks the sky out. James pushes it away, sitting up again.

“Lauren loved history. In tenth grade she didn’t get below the highest grade possible on tests. Not once. That was world history, year two. We learned about basically anything not directly tied into American history. The French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, Imperialism. She probably knows more about Beckett than we do put together.”

“Ye think?”

“Well, Beckett is trying to wipe out piracy. I  _ know  _ we learned about the East India Trading Company, and he’s leading a huge faction of it. It makes sense he would make the history books. I don’t remember learning about him, but the school system is terrible so I’ve probably only retained sixty percent of what I learned in school. I can only imagine what she’d say if we asked about him. Something like-” He shrugs. “Something like ‘eat the rich’, probably.”

Jack looks slightly sick. “Didn’t realize yer sister was a cannibal.” He says quietly.

James snorts. “No, it isn’t literal. It’s just the way of speaking, the humor. Like updog. You’d have to have experienced World War One, at least, to understand it- I think that’s when Dadaism came about, because of it.”

“Right.” Jack says.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t understand. It’s unfortunate, too. I feel like you’d appreciate it.”


	18. Philosophical Musings

“Do you think that God stays in heaven because he too lives in fear of what he has created?” James says, quite suddenly.

Jack frowns, giving James a look of complete bewilderment. “What?”

James smiles slyly. “Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, an’ now I’m wondering why ye just suddenly brought ‘t up.”

“Boredom, mostly. I wanted to see your reaction. It’s a quote from a movie.” James says.  “A child’s movie, actually, and the last one you’d think a quote like that would come from.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“To be honest, while I don’t believe in God it  _ is  _ a powerful statement.”

“Why  _ don’t  _ you believe in God?” Jack asks. He’s honestly curious; there’s nothing so obvious about James as to suggest why.

James shrugs self-consciously. “If there were a God then why would people be suffering? Why would people pray for help and get none?”

“T’ teach lessons?” Jack suggests. “Lots of people take suffering as a way of God making them stronger.”

“Yes.” James growls, eyes narrowing. “I was so much stronger after my cousin died in a car accident. Will Turner was so much better off after he had no parents to take care of him. Babies born with heart defects grow up to be in such a  _ better  _ place than they would have been if they were born healthy.”

They stop walking. Wind makes the trees rustle; though it isn’t snowing, the flakes falling from branches gives the illusion.

“If there were a compassionate, all-knowing God, then we would be able to learn without losing things.” James continues. “I don’t care if other people believe in God; any God. It’s their choice. But I will not worship a God that allows innocent people to suffer and die while others sit in their gold- encrusted chairs doing nothing but aggrandizing themselves.”

“Fair point.” Jack concedes. He takes James’s wrist. “If a bit pessimistic.”

“I’m a pretty pessimistic person.” James says, walking forward once again. “And I cover it up with sarcasm and satire.”

“Sometimes you have good jokes.” Jack says. James gives him a flat look.

“Thank you.” He says dryly. “It was my biggest aspiration to be told that I sometimes have good jokes.”

Jack shoves him good-naturedly. “I was trying ta be nice.”

“I know.” James grins. “See, sometimes you can be friendly.”


	19. Tightrope

Waking up to not snow and cold but warmth and green is a surprise. A happy one, of course, yet still a surprise, because he and James had gone to sleep in a hollow log in the middle of winter. Jack sits up, keeping his eyes trained on the hole in the top of the log- or, rather, the tree and leaves he can see through it.

“Why’m I not cold?” James mumbles, rolling onto his back. Jack looks at him just in time to watch him open his eyes. “And… why does that beech tree have leaves?”

“Apparently it goes from winter ta summer in th’ night here.” Jack says, voice betraying just how happy he is about this development.

James, for his part, looks just as excited. He grins. “Well then. I say we go look at the surroundings, see how different they are when snow isn’t covering everything.”

They walk to the end of the log and peer out. Leaf litter covers the ground, with small plants poking through and large grasses and bushes in full growth. Sunlight streams through the trees, lighting the ground up in spotted glamour. Jack watches as a large beetle crawls past them. Summer is apparently in full swing. He walks forward into a patch of sunlight, enjoying the long-missed warmth. James joins him.

“Amazing.” James says.

“Why wait until now?” Jack wonders aloud.

James takes a few steps forward, spinning around to see as much as he can. “To be fair, we are in some sort of Purgatory. Maybe it just syncs into our emotions.”

Jack snorts. “Aye, maybe.”

James grins again. “Come on. We still have ground to cover. It will be  _ undoubtedly  _ more enjoyable now.”

Jack glances around again. “Agreed. Have ye got any traveling songs ta sing? Seems like a good time for music.”

James begins walking. “I don’t know about traveling songs, but I do still have plenty of songs I could sing.” He looks back. “Well, are you coming? Don’t become a slowpoke just because everything’s warmed up.”

“Be patient. I’m enjoying the sun.”

“There’s plenty of sun to go around.”

“Well maybe I like  _ that  _ sun.”

“Oh yes, obviously. Do you want to hear a song or not? I have one called A Million Dreams.”

“Sounds boring.” 

“Of course you would say that. Look, it’s a nice song.” James huffs. “You’ll like it, I promise. It is sort of romantic, but not entirely. Just- don’t give me that look, just listen, you heathen.”

Jack crosses his arms, tilting his head up. “Whatever you say.” A small smile plays on his lips, though, and James is perfectly aware of it.

“ I close my eyes and I can see the world that's waiting up for me that I call my own

Through the dark, through the door, through where no one's been before

But it feels like home

 

They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy

They can say, they can say I've lost my mind

I don't care, I don't care, so call me crazy

We can live in a world that we design

 

'Cause every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head

A million dreams are keeping me awake

I think of what the world could be a vision of the one I see

A million dreams is all it's gonna take

A million dreams for the world we're gonna make

 

There's a house we can build, every room inside is filled with things from far away

The special things I compile, each one there to make you smile on a rainy day

 

They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy

They can say, they can say we've lost our minds

I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy

Runaway to a world that we design.”

At this, James pauses. Jack glances at him, because even though he’s never heard the song before he can tell it isn’t finished. The walk in silence for a moment, Jack rather hesitant to break James out of whatever contemplation he’s fallen into. With a sigh, though not one that seems particularly dismal, James continues.

“Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head

A million dreams are keeping me awake

I think of what the world could be a vision of the one I see

A million dreams is all it's gonna take

A million dreams for the world we're gonna make

 

However big, however small, let me be part of it all

Share your dreams with me

You may be right, you may be wrong, but say that you'll bring me along

To the world you see, to the world I close my eyes to see

I close my eyes to see

 

Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head

A million dreams are keeping me awake

A million dreams, a million dreams

I think of what the world could be a vision of the one I see

A million dreams is all it's gonna take

A million dreams for the world we're gonna make.”

Jack claps slowly, begrudgingly. He may have been bluffing about not wanting to hear James’s song, but it doesn’t mean he wants to admit it. He will though, because another thing he’ll not admit is how much he enjoys seeing James smile. Indeed, James smirks, eyes glinting with false pomposity.

“I  _ told  _ you.”

“Yeah, ye did. Where’d ye learn th’ song?” Jack asks.

“A movie. A really good movie, called The Greatest Showman.” James touches a yellow stalk, sending it swaying with barely a tap. “It’s based off of the life of a famous man from the 1800s, but it isn’t very… true to life, if that makes sense. The writers took liberties. Nonetheless, the movie is great.”

“Sounds like ye like it.”

“I do.”

“Ye say th’ song was a bit romantic?” Jack asks.

“Well, the main character is the one singing it to his wife, and she has a part near the end. But it isn’t necessarily a romantic song, just one where they’re excited about the future and what they might end up doing.” James shrugs.

“Is the movie a romantic movie?”

“Somewhat. The romance isn’t the main theme.” They walk through another patch of sunlight, nearly tripping over a small snake as it slithers past. They share an amused look. James runs his hand through his hair. “There is an actual romantic duet in the movie between two characters. One of them is a high society man, and a sort of business partner to the main character, and the other is a black woman that works with them. They’ve fallen in love, but she doesn’t think they have a chance together. It’s called Rewrite the Stars.”

“Way t’ tell me what the whole song is about.” Jack mutters, shoving James. He smirks at James’s affronted look.

“I wasn’t aware you’d be interested in listening to a love song, being the  _ legendary  _ and  _ heinous  _ Captain Jack Sparrow. Or are you secretly a romantic at heart?”

Jack blinks. “I most certainly am not!” 

“Right.” James says sarcastically. “So you’ll hate it if I sing the song?”

“Thought ye said it was a duet?”

“It is. I could still sing it, though.” They pause and stare at each other. James blushes. He runs his hand through his hair again, coughing awkwardly. “But I’m not going to.”

Jack smirks. “Why not? Afraid t’ sing a love song in front of me?”

James coughs again. The blush creeps down his neck. He mutters something too quiet for Jack to make out, then huffs. “Whatever. I’ll sing it.”

“Great!” 

“I hate you.”

“No ye don’t.”

James sighs, stalking forward.

“You know I want you, it's not a secret I try to hide

I know you want me, so don't keep saying our hands are tied

You claim it's not in the cards, fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me

But you're here in my heart so who can stop me if I decide

That you're my destiny?  
What if we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart

You'd be the one I was meant to find

It's up to you, and it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

So why don't we rewrite the stars?

Maybe the world could be ours tonight

 

You think it's easy

You think I don't want to run to you

But there are mountains and there are doors that we can't walk through

I know you're wondering why because we're able to be just you and me

Within these walls

But when we go outside you're going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all

 

No one can rewrite the stars

How can you say you'll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart and I'm not the one you were meant to find

It's not up to you, It's not up to me

When everyone tells us what we can be

How can we rewrite the stars?

Say that the world can be ours tonight

 

All I want is to fly with you, all I want is to fall with you, so just give me all of you

 

It feels impossible 

It's not impossible

Is it impossible?

Say that it's possible

 

How do we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart 'cause you are the one I was meant to find

It's up to you, and it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be and why don't we rewrite the stars?

Changing the world to be ours

 

You know I want you

It's not a secret I try to hide

But I can't have you

We're bound to break and my hands are tied.”

James finishes the song breathless. To be completely honest, Jack’s never seen James get  _ quite  _ that invested in a song before. Oh, when James sings it’s easy to see he cares about what he’s singing; he puts emotion into it. But this song was a  _ performance _ .

“Wasn’t too hard now was it?” Jack says, facing James and nudging him in the shoulder.

James smiles hesitantly. “No, I suppose not…” The blush is still full force on his face.

“Ye really like that song, don’t ye?”

“It’s my favorite from the movie.” James looks down at his feet. “Partially because of the actors and storyline, of course.”

“Obviously.” Jack says. “Ye don’t have ta blush.”

James opens his mouth to say something, only to have Jack practically launched into him as something slams into his back, forcing him forward. They tumble to the ground, Jack landing rather heavily on James’s chest. Something large and white covers them. They lock eyes for a moment before Jack tries to scramble off of James, shoving the white  _ whatever it is _ off of them. James sits up, rubbing his chest, and they observe their challenger. A white cherry blossom. Jack looks up, watching as a few more flowers drift to the ground. 

“We just got overpowered by a flower.” Jack grumbles.

“ _ I _ got overpowered by  _ you _ . You were the one that got knocked over by a cherry blossom.” James says haughtily. Jack elbows him.  _ “Ow!” _

“Ye deserved that.” Jack says.

Neither make any attempt to get up, instead enjoying the view as white cherry blossoms slowly-but powerfully- drift to the ground. A bird lands, hopping around the blossoms and leaves littering the ground and picking out various bugs to eat. It cheeps a few times, then flies off. The entire scene is tranquil, unworried, secure. Something touches his hair- he jerks, then calms when he realizes it was just James. James gives him an apologetic smile, but continues to play with his hair. It’s pretty messy, having slowly fallen out of its braid over the past week and a half, when James last fixed it. He lets the fingers deftly rake through the snarls.

“I saw the sun begin to dim, and felt that winter wind blow cold

A man learns who is there for him when the glitter fades and the walls won't hold

'Cause from then, rubble what remains can only be what's true

If all was lost is more I gain 'cause it led me back to you

 

From now on, these eyes will not be blinded by the lights

From now on, what's waited till tomorrow starts tonight, tonight

Let this promise in me start like an anthem in my heart

From now on, from now on.”

James sings softly, almost hesitantly. His voice is little louder than a breath as he weaves Jack’s hair together. Jack breaths quietly as James pauses, hoping he continues. When James does, his voice is louder, surer.

“I drank champagne with kings and queens

The politicians praised my name

But those are someone else's dreams, the pitfalls of the man I became

For years and years I chased their cheers

The crazy speed of always needing more

But when I stop and see you here

I remember who all this was for

 

And from now on, these eyes will not be blinded by the lights

From now on, what's waited till tomorrow starts tonight

It starts tonight

And let this promise in me start like an anthem in my heart

From now on, from now on, from now on!”

James releases Jack’s fully braided hair and stands, holding out a hand to help him up. With a bright grin, he takes the hand.

“And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home, again!

 

And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home, again!

 

From now on!

 

These eyes will not be blinded by the lights!

 

From now on!

 

What's waited till tomorrow starts tonight!

It starts tonight!

Let this promise in me start like an anthem in my heart

From now on! From now on! From now on!

 

And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home again!

 

And we will come back home

And we will come back home

Home again!

 

From now on

From now on

Home again!”

James ends the song nearly as softly as he began it, but it doesn’t have the sad tone to it this time. More of a hopeful one, really, and when Jack looks at him as they walk through the woods once again, James has a faraway look on his face. Jack nudges him. He blinks, turning to look at him. Jack just looks down at their hands, which are still clasped together, and which James doesn’t seem to have noticed. Not that Jack minds, at all; nor is it much different than holding each others’ wrists, which they’ve been doing for quite a while. James blushes once again. He doesn’t drop Jack’s hand, and gives no indication he wants to.

“What’s that song called?” Jack asks.

“From Now On. It’s from the same movie. It’s about realizing- and appreciating- what’s really important to you.” James smiles wryly. “Not all treasure is silver and gold. I think you told Will that, when you were trying to get to Elizabeth?”

“Aye. It was obvious enough he was in love with her. He told ye about that?”

“Yes. It was after he saved you from being hanged, actually, and I’d retracted my proposal to Elizabeth. We had a talk.”

“Ye could actually stand ta be around him?”

“As upset as I may have been about the entire matter, there is nothing wrong with someone being in love with the same person that I am. Was.” James sighs. “I wasn’t going to be demeaning to him. He did nothing wrong- well in that matter anyway. He did help a criminal escape, twice, and stole my ship.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Jack insists. “Really. Just convenient.”

“Oh, obviously.”

They laugh.

“How many songs are in th’ movie?” Jack wonders aloud.

“Including reprises? Eleven or twelve, I think.”

“Did Lauren like the movie?” Jack follows a sudden, different trail of thought.

James blinks. “Oh, she loved it. I think she watched it three times in a week, and the only times she’s beaten a record like that was when she watched Venom twice in three days…” He trails off.

“What was her favorite song?”

“The Other Side, undoubtedly. That, though, is another duet, and it will not make much sense if only one person sings it.”

Jack huffs. “Second favorite, then. Or continue on until ye reach a singable song that ye haven’t already.”

James smirks. “I think you just like my voice, Jack. I don’t think it matters much what song I’m singing.”

“Not true.”

“Sure…” James rolls his eyes. “It’s called Tightrope. She didn’t like it much at first, she said it felt underwhelming. Not entirely sure what changed her mind, but I know it was her second favorite song from the movie. It’s sung by the main character’s wife.

“Some people long for a life that is simple and planned, tied with a ribbon

Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land to follow what's written

But I'd follow you to the great unknown

off to a world we call our own

 

Hand in my hand and we promised to never let go

We're walking the tightrope high in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking the tightrope

Never sure, never know how far we could fall

But it's all an adventure that comes with a breathtaking view

Walking the tightrope

 

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you

 

Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between

Desert and ocean

You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream

Always in motion

So I risk it all just to be with you and I risk it all for this life we choose

 

Hand in my hand and you promised to never let go

We're walking the tightrope high in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking the tightrope

Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?

Well, it's all an adventure that comes with a breathtaking view

Walking the tightrope

 

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

 

With you, ooh-ooh-ooh

With you”

 

Jack stares at James, mouth slightly open. “And ye like Rewrite the Stars more’n this one?”

James frowns. “Yes? There’s nothing wrong with that. Why do you look so surprised?”

How to explain that. Jack tries to come up with an actual, verbal answer, with no luck. He shrugs. “Guess I don’t have an actual reason.” He grumbles.

James snorts. “I think  _ you  _ like Tightrope more than you like Rewrite the Stars, so you find it weird that  _ I  _ don’t.”

Jack shrugs again. “Not that big a deal.” He looks up at the sky, an entire blue expanse impossible for him to reach. The trees, growing steady and strongly, reaching up for the sun. The way a small breeze makes the tops of the trees shimmer and flutter like the ocean on a calm day. He’s never seen himself as philosophical. Not really. And  _ trees  _ and  _ love  _ and  _ metaphors  _ have never been an interest of his, even though he can certainly carry on a conversation about them if need be. He must really be going mad, then, if he finds himself repeatedly musing over these matters, and equally ridiculous ones as well!

“Hey, Jack?” James asks.

“Hm?” He drags his eyes back to his companion.

“I think you should sing a song for a change. I’ll take any song, even.”

“Th’ only songs I know are pirate songs, mate.”

“Sing one anyway. I’ll pretend to not hate it.” James’s eyes catch the sunlight and seem to sparkle. “I might even applaud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure if anyone actually reads the song parts, because there's a lot of them, especially in this chapter. Listening to the actual song and pretending it's James singing might actually work better than reading, but. Who knows. Sorry for the late update, I've been really busy lately but hopefully I can get back into a rhythm! Hope you enjoy, tell me what you think in the comments!


	20. The Arena

Jack laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth. James’s face doesn’t change. “Ye  _ might  _ applaud? What, if th’ song’s about divine retribution for a pirate’s sins, ye mean?”

James swats him, though not very hard. “I’m trying to be  _ nice _ , Jack. If you don’t like it I’ll go back to trying to kill you.”

“Never said that!” He amends. “Just don’t see why you’d want ta clap fer a song about pillaging and plundering.”

James rolls his eyes, though his face goes slightly pink. “I wouldn’t be clapping for the song, you dolt.”

Jack smirks. Of  _ course  _ he knows that, he just can’t help himself. Seeing James flustered is just funny. “No, I don’t want t’ sing anything. That’s yer thing. Actually, stories are yer thing, too, and ye haven’t told one in a while. Ye should.”

“I’ve done enough for the time being. My throat hurts.” James rubs his neck.

Jack sighs, but resigns himself to a silent walk. Other than the ambient sounds of the forest, of course. They weave through blades of grass as they poke through the leaf litter, around mushrooms, and they definitely turn the other way when they come across a group of ants. All the while, sunlight pokes through the canopy as a small breeze makes the trees shiver.

“What do you think is going on with Beckett and our friends?” James asks suddenly.

Noting to himself that James used ‘our friends’, Jack ponders it. “Well, best case pirates won. Worst case, Beckett won and everyone’s dead. Most likely is that there’s a war going on an’ there’ll be no clear winner when it’s all over.”

“Do you think when we’ll get out of here we’ll be able to help?”

“Possibly.” Jack frowns. “Not sure what th’ two of us’ll be able ta do.”

James hums in agreement. “More than nothing, hopefully. Sometimes the hope alone is enough to win. Seeing us- more likely,  _ you-  _ back from the dead and prepared to fight could revive hope.”

Jack glances at him. “What makes ye say that?”

“Jack-” James says, sounding exasperated. “Just look at some of your accomplishments, for God’s sake.  _ Captain Jack Sparrow _ . And- people will always work harder if they have something to work for. People will fight harder if they have someone to go home to. People will refuse to give up if they have someone to follow that’s been through hell and back and is still at the front of the line.”

“Wise words.” Jack declares. “And a fair point. Th’ only problem is that half th’ pirates that know who I am hate my guts.”

James snorts. “Oh, of course they do. It must be because of your  _ winning personality.” _

“Don’t patronize me.” Jack crosses his arms, which only serves to allow a blade of grass to slap him in the face. He grimaces. “So. What do ye think will be going on when we get out of here?”

James is silent for a few moments. “I think that Beckett has the advantage, because he has the Dutchman. But Elizabeth and Will know what can be done to get rid of that threat, so long as they can get in the right position. Without the Dutchman, the East India Trading Company and the Pirates are at the same level when it comes to tactics and morale, but Beckett has the advantage of more supplies and more men. I think… I think it’s likely Beckett will be winning, if he hasn’t already won, unless a miracle has happened for our friends. Historically, numbers and supplies don’t mean victory. Sometimes it just comes down to how far people are willing to go and how determined they are for their cause.”

“Most the Pirates’ll want to stay at Shipwreck Cove and try to wait th’ East India Trading Company out. But with no supplies coming in, they’ll starve before anything will happen to Beckett’s men’s morale” Jack contemplates. “‘Course, it’ll be up t’ a vote between th’ Pirate Lords. Elizabeth an’ Will will probably try to work together… hopefully.”

James sighs. “I hate this.”

“Aye, agreed. Stuck not knowing is the worst.”

He gives him a look. “Not what I meant, actually.”

“Oh?”

James runs a hand through his hair. “Look- a war against piracy is never going to get rid of piracy. Not because someone might survive, pass on the Pirate Code. Not because pirates will be able to band together enough to survive. You said it yourself, I think. Piracy is an idea. Ideas can’t be destroyed. But Jack- most pirates don’t become a pirate because they want to steal, or they want the freedom, or any other reason I’m sure you’re a pirate for. People become pirates because they need money. They have a family, but no income, so they turn against the law. Beckett, in his greed for power and hatred of pirates, is only really making that situation worse.” James scowls, green eyes flashing. “Greedy men and women will take wages from the vulnerable to make themselves feel important and then look down on those they stole from with contempt. And then when the beaten and broken try to get up again they’re met with barriers that are impossible to overcome lawfully and dangerous to overcome illegally. Even when the law is unjust, to change it take enormous effort.”

Jack blinks, stupefied. It’s clear James is feeling passionate about this- and it’s somewhat amusing as well. “And yet you were a member of the Royal Navy and then later, the E.I.T.C.” Jack points out, because he can’t help himself.

James gives him a rueful look. “I did my best to help out the needy when I lived in Port Royal. Personally and through the law, I mean. I may have hung pirates, Jack, and other lawbreakers, but those were the ones I truly believed deserved it. Serving under Beckett… that was the decision of a broken man. Self-ruined, perhaps, but still ruined. I just wanted to feel something other than misery again. I wanted to feel important.”

Jack pats him on the back sympathetically. “The woes of life.”

“I think I’ve made myself sad.” James smiles self-consciously.

“That happens sometimes.”


	21. Prehistory

_ Thomas glances around the corner of the building. Only a few yards away, a vendor selling bread turns to a prospective buyer. His back is to Thomas for one second… two seconds… three seconds… four... feeling butterflies in his stomach, Thomas rushes forward. His hands wrap around a loaf and he takes off again. Of course his theft doesn’t go unnoticed- shouts follow him as he ducks into an alleyway, and footsteps aren’t far behind him. _

_ Thomas glances back. It isn’t the vendor following him but another man, only a few years older than him. He wears a naval uniform. Thomas turns forward again as he tears around the corner. It doesn’t matter- he’s a born runner. He won’t be caught. _

_ “Stop him!” His pursuer shouts. _

_ Some of the crowd turn to look, but react far too slow to do anything. He races past them. With another glance behind, and an assurance that the navy man is still following, he smirks. The bread is shoved into his coat, into a pocket- he’ll have to deal with the crumbs later- and then he slows. He ducks around a tall man- taller than him, so very tall- and slows. His coat comes off in an instant, dropped on the ground in a bush. Hidden from view. He tears his hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall around his shoulders. Then he simply mills around with the crowd. _

_ Thomas watches his pursuer out of the corner of his eye. Though he isn’t much of a pursuer anymore, having lost sight of his thief. Feeling accomplished, he wanders down the street as calmly as he can. He’ll return later to get his coat and bread. For now he’s part of the crowd, and not in the eyesight of anyone who might wish to punish him. _

 

* * *

 

_ Archibald wanders down the street, confused. Where on Earth did that thief go? There one second, gone the next- a magic trick. Ha! As if he believes in magic. The thief must have simply sped up, or hidden in a shop. It isn’t worth pursuing anymore. He’ll pay the vendor for his loss, like a good man, but it is truly only a loaf of bread. If the thief put that much effort into stealing it then he must need it. He turns back towards where he came from. _

 

* * *

 

_ Theodore L. Groves stands his post steadfastly. It is really only loitering around on the deck of the HMS Grayling, as he’s only a new midshipman. Really, he’s certain some of the older men think of him as a cabin boy. In any case, this is his post and he intends to do well. _

_ He is bored, though… _

_ There isn’t much at all going on on the ship. _

_ He counts people as they go about on the docks. _

_ There goes a fisherman… and another, and another… And a group of Officers, going about their business. Some civilians, interested in the going-ons of the busy docks. Oh! Here comes Archie! _

_ Theodore smiles excitedly as he realizes the midshipman is heading towards the Grayling. With Archie around he’ll have someone to talk to, someone who will actually listen and not because he feels like he has to, like just about every other of their shipmates. Even though Archie is twenty-four and he himself is only fifteen, they share several common interests. _

_ Yet Archie only nods sharply and moves to the Captain’s quarters, where he raps on the door thrice. Evidently Captain Boon is free, because Archie enters hardly a second later. _

_ Oh well. They’ll just have to talk later. Theodore  _ is  _ busy, after all. _

 

* * *

 

_ “What is your name, son?” The naval officer asks. Thomas thinks he’s a captain, but he wasn’t listening to introductions. He was too busy trying to calm his heartbeat so it wasn’t thunder in his ear. _

_ The officer repeats himself. Behind him, his black-haired pursuer from earlier stands impassively. _

_ Grimacing, Thomas answers. “James.” _

_ “James what?” _

_ “I haven’t got a last name.” He lies. “Never knew my parents.” Another lie. _

_ The officer sighs. “Well, that certainly explains why you’re a cutpurse, doesn’t it?” _

_ “Probably.” _

_ “Well, son, Mr. Hathaway here and I think you ought to get a second chance at life, so to say.” _

_ “Why?” Simple answers and questions leave less room for error, in Thomas’s opinion. _

_ The black-haired man- Hathaway then- speaks now. “You’re younger than I am. It doesn’t seem right to condemn you to prison, to be entirely honest. Especially when the Navy could use all the help it can get. So Captain Boon and I think you ought to have the opportunity for something more than crime.” _

_ Captain Boon nods. _

_ Thomas frowns. “You want me to join the Navy? I don’t know anything about sailing.” _

_ “You can learn, just as everyone else does. What do you say, James?” _


	22. Spirit

“You’ve really never tried cloud watching?” James asks, incredulous.

“...no?” Jack says.  _ Why  _ James thinks  _ cloud watching _ is something that might interest him is, well, beyond him. “Other than for predicting th’ weather.”

James shakes his head. “Well, we’re stopping right here and watching the clouds, then.”

“An’ we’ll be perfect prey for birds looking for food.” Jack says, deadpan. “Right here, on ‘n enormous rock, where anything with sight c’n see…”

James swats him. “Stop it. We’ll be fine.”

So, of course, five minutes later they’re laying on their backs staring at the slightly cloudy sky and Jack. Is. Bored. The clouds look like clouds, nothing else. And his back hurts. He sighs. When James doesn’t react, he sighs louder, stretching across the rock as dramatically as he can. He stares at James, frowning. Finally James looks at him.

“You aren’t even  _ trying _ , Jack.”

“I know.”

“Can you please? For me?” James looks back at the sky, pillowing his arms under his head to hold it up from the rock. 

Jack frowns harder. “I don’t get it.”

“Look for  _ pictures  _ in the  _ clouds _ , Jack. Humans have pattern recognition, use it.”

So he stares some more at the sky. A cloud, and another cloud, and a slightly darker cloud, and a wispy cloud…

_ Clouds _ .

“That one sort of looks like a heart.” James points to one.

Jack looks at it, unconvinced. “Eh.”

“We aren’t stopping until you put effort in, Jack.”

“Ye can’t tell me what ta do.”

“No, but you won’t go anywhere without me and  _ I’m  _ not leaving until you try harder.” A quick glance at James shows he’s smirking like an ass.

Jack huffs. “Fine. That cloud o’er there looks like it could, possibly, be a bird.”

“See? You’re learning. It  _ does  _ look like a bird.”

“I wouldn’ta said it if I didn’t think it did.”

“Why are you in such a mood today?” For the first time James sounds perturbed.

“I just don’t see th’ point in doing something so childish.”

James sighs. “For one, you’ve been like this since we woke up. For two, that is the point. It’s childish, imaginative, and ceaselessly unneeded. There’s nothing wrong with that. And besides, half of what you  _ do  _ is childish. I don’t complain about that. Usually.”

James sighs again and then- quite suddenly- he’s on top of Jack. Literally, with his entire weight pinning him down. James rests his chin on Jack’s chest as his arms wrap around- and under- him.

For a moment Jack has absolutely no idea what to do.

“What’re ye doing?”

“I’m holding you down so you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“My arms’re still free.” Jack points out, and lifts them up to make a point. Then he folds them under his head so his neck doesn’t have to hold it up.

“”The rest of you isn’t.”

They stare at each other, Jack uncertain and James unrelenting.

“I...think that’s th’ point.” Jack admits finally.

“Hm?”

“Not being… free.”

“It’s bothering you that we’re in here, you mean?”

“Entirely. On a new level, even.”

James frowns. “Well I suppose I can’t do much about- did you hear that?” He gets up, or at least mostly off of Jack, instead resting on his knees as he looks around.

“All I heard was ye talking.”

James shakes his head. “No, I heard other talking.”

Jack sits up quickly. “So there might be other people around?”

James shakes his head. “I’m not sure… after all this time alone, why would there suddenly be other people. We’re still in an enormous forest! It makes no sense.”

“Well- things change when we change, right? So’s there might be people after all.”

James is still frowning. “I’m still suspicious. And you didn’t hear anything at all. I probably was just hearing things.”

 

* * *

 

“That one looks like a torch.” Jack suggests.

James hums. “I’m going to have to disagree. It’s a vase of flowers.”

They haven’t moved for hours. Every once and a while James will frown and stare off into the distance as if looking for something, only to do a very obvious mental shrug and go back to looking at clouds. At first it bothered Jack, and to be honest it still does, but not nearly as much as it did at first. Which probably isn’t good, because something will happen when he’s least expecting it…

“That one is a horse.” James murmurs. Jack looks at the cloud he’s pointing at.

“The wind’s moving it fast,” he remarks. “Th’ legs look like they’re moving.”

James chuckles. “I wonder where it’s trying to go?”

“Anywhere but here.” Jack says.

James looks at him with wide eyes. “Jack?”

“Sorry.” He mutters. “Pretend I didn’t say’t.”

James stares at him, face unreadable. “Jack…”

“I don’t need-” Jack starts, then cuts himself off. He looks up at the sky again, at the horse racing across the sky, and feels a sense of longing deep in his chest. “I appreciate th’ concern, mate. I’m jus’ feeling a bit trapped ‘s all. Like I’m staring at th’ sky but I know it isn’t real, no matter how realistic ‘t looks, it’s jus’ a ceiling. A roof. Like we aren’t really outside even though it feels like it.” He meets James eyes.

“I understand.” James says softly. “We’ll get out of here.”


End file.
